Star Voyager
by Ragna Katharina
Summary: Star Wars/Voyager Crossover - Voyager rescues a man from a long time ago and a Galaxy far far away
1. Default Chapter

  
Star Voyager  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
- Whatever stars shine, the brightest will always be the special one   
that shines above your home. -   
  
  
Katherine Janeway, Captain of the Federation starship _Voyager,   
stranded in the Delta Quadrant, stared at the viewscreen. There,   
before her ship, was   
the nearest terminus of a wormhole that had proved to be yet another   
false hope. The wormhole was large enough, and was apparently stable, but the   
few signals received from the probe told them the other end was further   
from home, not nearer.   
  
"Captain, the probe has stopped transmitting signals." Tom Paris's   
voice barely hid his disappointment.  
  
The captain turned towards the young man. "Very well, Mr. Paris.   
Log the readings, and put us back on course for home." Her voice was   
calm as always, a source of stability to her crew.  
  
Suddenly the voice of Harry Kim cut though the air. "Captain, something   
is coming though the wormhole! A ship!"  
Janeway turned swiftly back towards... a small ship tumbling into   
view. "Readings, Mr. Kim?"  
  
"One life form, lifesigns decreasing rapidly. The hull is badly   
damaged, and she's lost life support."  
  
"Wow," Tom Paris muttered, staring at the ship. "That's a radical   
design -- I've never seen anything like her."   
  
Janeway was almost able to hide her grin. It was one of the constants   
of the universe: Tom Paris's fascination with starships.  
Janeway inquired dryly, "Mister Paris, I assume from your remark   
that there is nothing like that in our database?"   
  
Paris hastily ran a search in the ship's database   
  
Kim's voice cut in, "Captain, lifesigns have dropped to critical   
levels. And the ship's hull is starting to buckle."   
  
"Beam the occupant straight into sickbay. Inform the doctor that he has   
a new patient."   
  
A flash on the screen. Everyone on the bridge threw hands up to   
cover their eyes -- a reflex no one, even the logical Tuvok, had made   
any effort to suppress. The shock wave from the explosion slammed into   
Voyager. The ship rocked, lights flickering until the emergency systems   
came online. The wormhole entrance collapsed.  
  
"DAMAGE REPORT!" Janeway's voice cut through the clamor.   
  
Tom Paris's jaw dropped. "Was all that energy from that one ship?"  
  
B'Lanna Torres's voice over the intercom lost nothing of its snap.   
"Life support is out on decks three to five. Warp drive is offline. We   
have 40 percent of impulse power." The Klingon snarl increased, "Repair   
crews are already working."   
  
The captain interrupted, "When you have things under control, I want a   
full report. Janeway out."   
  
Katherine Janeway glanced at Kim and raised an eyebrow. Kim nodded,   
"Transport successful."   
  
  
*******   
  
The injured man awoke. He found himself staring up at a balding man   
with a supercilious .....  
  
"Where am I?" The patient's voice boomed through the sickbay, giving no   
clue to how weak and disoriented he felt.  
  
"You are aboard the starship _Voyager._ We beamed you aboard just   
before your ship blew up, after it came through the wormhole."  
  
The injured man felt medical apparatus restraining him.. But he   
stared at the medic. To his perceptions, there was no one there! "You   
aren't a life-form. WHAT are you?" he growled menacingly.  
  
  
The doctor answered in his most "cheerful" voice. "I'm the Emergency   
Medical Hologram onboard this vessel. If you relax, the diagnostic   
readings will be more accurate. You...."  
  
****   
  
Janeway strode into the sickbay, the door sliding closed behind   
her. The doctor was talking to the new arrival. Under the medical   
apparatus, the patient wore what seemed to be a variety of a pressure   
suit, damaged by the explosion. Or were those disrupter burns? "I'm Katherine   
Janeway. I'm captain of this ship."  
  
The injured man twisted slightly under the medical restraints.   
"Dispense with the pleasantries, Captain. I do not wish to discuss   
anything. Signal the nearest Imperial base. Have them send a shuttle to   
pick me up."   
  
Janeway blinked at the tone of voice. The man sounded like an   
admiral of her acquaintance, not someone who would have been piloting   
himself. She decided to play safe. "I see. We're not familiar with all   
of the minor local political groups, so if you'd be so kind as to give us   
a direction for a beamcast, we'll be happy to call your people for a   
pickup." She added softly, "Can your ships make warp seven, or should   
we wait for them? What name should we give them?"  
  
The patient's voice lost its authoritative tone for an instant.   
"What's 'Warp seven'?" Then the damaged body twisted violently, shoving   
the medical restraints aside. "Give me an outside comm line,   
immediately!" The patient tried to sit upright.  
  
The doctor quickly applied a hypospray to a spot just below the   
armored helmet. The patient subsided, returning to his rest position on   
the diagnostic bed.  
  
"Did you do that?" Janeway inquired.   
  
"The patient is in no condition to walk around, and there was no   
time to reason with him." The doctor walked around to study the   
diagnostic readings. "Fascinating. This man is lucky to be alive."  
  
Janeway walked over to the diagnostic table. "Is his species in our   
databank?" she asked the EMH. What she saw was a pressure suit of a   
dark flexible material, a leather or a plastic, with instrument modules that   
had lights blinking at intervals. His face mask was a stylized face, and   
emitted a breathing noise not at all synchronized with his speech. The   
suit was badly burned. Her voice softened, "How badly is he injured?"   
  
The EMH nodded curtly. "He seems to be an Earth-human." The doctor   
flipped a switch and an image appeared above his desk. The doctor   
pointed out features of the suit. "The pressure suit is nearly a full   
life support system. According to my readings, he has suffered several   
amputations as well as a number of broken bones and extensive internal   
damage."   
  
"You seem displeased, Doctor..." Janeway observed.  
  
The doctor lost his carefully programmed cool demeanor.... "How can a   
culture with advanced space travel be so backwards in their medical   
science? They've nearly turned him into a cyborg by adding prosthetic   
parts, instead of applying regeneration techniques. The readings show   
that he is in constant pain." The hologram shook his head.  
  
Janeway looked down at the unconscious form. "Can you do anything?"   
  
The doctor scowled down at the newest resident of sickbay, then turned   
toward the captain, his statement changing to a satisfied smile. "It   
will take a great deal of expertise and effort, but I should be able to   
improve this patient's condition considerably."   
  
Janeway nodded, "Talk to him about it, once he's awake again, and   
calmed down."  
  
Captain Janeway returned to the bridge while the doctor continued his   
scans and set up a security screen to be sure his new patient would stay in   
sickbay. He checked on his readouts again, finally finding something   
that was definitely not earth human standard, the brain had additional front   
lobes. He stored this information for further use. The comm link was   
signaling from bridge, a unobtrusive query from bridge if everything   
was all right. He confirmed the query and started to apply a hypospray to   
the patients neck in order to wake him up.   
  
The injured man woke up to find himself staring into the face of this   
"doctor". But this time he was prepared...  
  
"Captain," Harry Kim called out, "Security breach in sickbay! The   
patient's attacking the doctor and tearing sickbay apart." Kim frowned   
and touched his screen. "The comm's been cut off."   
  
Katharine Janeway looked surprised. "The force fields have been   
activated?" she inquired in a low voice.   
  
Tuvok's calm voice answered "Yes, Captain, they are still activated.   
  
The Vulcan was already in the turbolift before the Captain left her chair.   



	2. Star Voyager - Part 2

Star Voyager  
  
by Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
  
He tapped his comm badge. "Security, meet me in sickbay." Security   
acknowledged, and the comm cut off.   
  
"If we can access the doctor, he might be able to give us further   
information." Captain Janeway offered.  
  
Tuvok held the turbolift for the Captain. As the doors slid shut,   
Janeway tapped her com badge. "Computer, location of the EMH?"  
  
"The Emergency Medical Hologram is currently located on Holodeck 3,"   
came the always-calm voice of the ship's computer..  
  
Janeway looked at Tuvok. She snapped "Holodeck 3" to the lift control.   
  
***  
  
  
The Holodeck doors opened. The EMH was pacing up and down in the   
center of the room, arguing with himself -- and losing. The captain   
snapped, "Doctor, report!   
  
Captain, I _cannot_ treat this man!" He took a deep breath -- a human   
mannerism that Janeway hadn't seen before. "First, he demanded to see   
me in person. When I explained that I was a medical program he refused   
treatment at my hands. Then, when I tried to scan him, he went berserk.   
He literally ripped the diagnostic bed apart... Then he came toward my   
office. When he encountered the force fields, it enraged him more." The   
doctor's voice rose half an octave, "Somehow, he then started destroying my   
holo-emitters, _through_ the force fields. I was barely able to transfer   
myself here before he short-circuited the entire sickbay..."  
  
Tuvok's eyebrow lifted. "The transporter readings showed no energy   
weapon on him when he beamed aboard."   
  
The doctor snapped at the Vulcan, "He clenched his fists and sparks   
flew from my instruments. Do you have another explanation?"   
  
Tuvok's face went completely blank. He spoke quietly but urgently   
into his comm badge.  
  
Janeway tried to understand the situation. The rescuee seemed to be   
almost psychotic in his distrust of others and, in addition to his   
violent nature, possessed special powers she had encountered only   
rarely before -- Q came to mind. Janeway shuddered. But Q would not be in such   
a damaged body.  
  
Janeway then turned to the doctor. "You have no idea why he's so   
violent? He won't let you treat him because you're a hologram?"  
  
The doctor scowled. He hated to admit he couldn't handle a patient,   
but... The captain continued, "these telekinetic powers of his. Tell me   
about them..." A moment later both the captain and Tuvok had a better   
understanding of the newcomers unique abilities.  
  
The EMH bristled. "The man is obviously irrational," he started,   
then calmed, "but it might be because of pain. And, no, he won't deal   
let me treat him."  
  
Janeway chewed her lower lip for a moment, thoughtfully. "If we can   
keep our visitor from killing him, I'd suggest having Mister Paris talk   
to him. He doesn't have your expertise, Doctor, but I think Tom is   
dying to talk to him about his ship anyway..."  
  
Tuvok's eyebrow rose at the word "dying" but the doctor considered   
the idea. "We should beam him out of sickbay and into a secure cell, one he   
cannot destroy" Tuvok suggested.  
  
Captain Janeway nodded and gave orders to beam their guest straight   
into a cell.   
  
Voice from the com panel, "Captain, transfer complete. He's in the   
brig."  
  
***  
  
The doctor had disappeared before the stranger's eyes. That   
startled the injured man enough that he paused in his rampage. Then a   
bright light surrounded him. "Stunner fire," he thought.  
  
He expected to awake, if at all, drugged into cooperation, and   
restrained in the bargain. Instead, he found himself in the exact   
position he had been in sickbay, but in an entirely new location. and his   
perceptions told him there had been no time lost.  
  
The puzzle brought him out of the rest of his rage, and he studied   
his new surroundings. "Teleportation? Impossible! Unless..." He growled   
to himself, remembering legends from the mists of time. But he could   
feel no others of his training around -- the presence of such a one   
would be a beacon in this sea of the mind-mute.  
  
Unless somehow that self-styled doctor was powerful enough to   
transport him as well as shielding his own thoughts. That   
partial-sneer, as if the doctor was toying with his prisoner...  
  
Well, he was more of a prisoner now. The same type of energy field   
that had confined him in sickbay surrounded the cell, with a second,   
punishing field inside it when he pressed too hard on the invisible   
wall. The second field also interfered with his trying to manipulate the   
controls on the console where there should have been a guard.  
  
The prisoner sat back and collected himself. As the adrenaline wore   
off, he _hurt_. He knew that his outburst had not improved his health.   
Getting off this ship and back to his fleet was his first priority. He   
needed maintenance for his cybernetic units... and he needed a stiff   
drink.  
  
Janeway's voice came from a com panel. "Your conduct in the sick bay   
has forced us to move you to more secure quarters. But I'm certain you   
realize you are still severely injured. Will you permit our doctor to   
treat you?"  
  
The prisoner snarled, "I have not yet _seen_ a medic on your ship. find   
me one, and I will decide." Janeway could hear the stranger add under   
his breath, 'Rebel scum.'"  
  
*****  
  
In the holodeck, Janeway looked over at Tuvok. She countered, "We're   
Starfleet, not Maquis...."  
  
There was a long pause. Then the voice from the brig said, "Find me   
someone with medical equipment. I am able to treat my own injuries."   
Again, the undertone, "...and some Corellian Brandy."   
  
Janeway nodded before she remembered that this was audio only. "I will   
send someone..."   
  
When the captain asked, Neelix was eager to help, but the notion of   
taking alcohol -- _not_ synthahol! -- to the brig was more than a   
little unsettling, and he fretted more when on his way he heard snips   
of conversation about a disturbance in sickbay. "I hope he likes the   
brandy. I've never heard of Correll, myself. Maybe he means Corbell? But they   
make sparkling wines, not brandies..."  



	3. Star Voyager - Part 3

Star Voyager   
  
by Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
Meditation helped the injured man suppress the pain a little. He   
was able to sense _something_ beyond the walls of his cell... When he   
was finally away from here, he would take this bit of technology with him,   
in case he needed to hide from someone with similar powers of   
perception. Or to confine one...  
  
A non-human -- humanoid form, unfamiliar race, but something with   
whiskers along the side of its face and nearly human expression --   
entered the cell block control room carrying a small tray with a bottle   
and a cup.  
  
Neelix found the armor the prisoner was wearing unfamiliar, but not   
nearly as bizarre as some he had seen in his travels. But he realized   
that he didn't know what to call the stranger! Well, try _something_   
the fellow would correct him, Neelix was sure.  
  
  
"Ahh, hello Mr. Pilot! My name is Neelix, I am the   
ambassador-at-large onboard _Voyager_. Ambassador, cook and morale   
officer. Captain Janeway told me to bring you the re......"  
  
The pilot lifted his hand to silence this annoying being. Something in   
the "ambassador's" voice tones were even more annoying than his nervous   
chatter. The prisoner lifted his hand and spent some of his hard-won   
concentration to silence the newcomer.   
  
Neelix tried to continue but his vocal cords would not cooperate.  
  
"Continue your duties in silence," the prisoner spoke in a low whisper.   
".....now...open the cell........."  
  
Neelix blinked several times rapidly. He felt a sudden urge to   
cooperate, but he knew it was wrong, so he fought it off. The block on   
his vocal cords lessened, allowing him to answer.  
  
"Sir, I am sorry but the Captain gave me no authorization to open it   
and....I do not have the access codes."   
  
The prisoner showed that his thought process, at least, were   
understandable -- he sighed heavily in frustration.  
  
"Then how did you intend to deliver the..." the prisoner saw what   
could only be a beverage container on the tray, and guessed, "...brandy   
to me?"  
  
The injured man watched intently as Neelix used the food delivery   
system built into the force field. And, yes, it was brandy -- he had   
picked up enough from the thoughts of this "ambassador" to be able to decipher   
the label. And these same thoughts told him that the brandy had not   
been tampered with. Now, to get it into him, past the breath screen. "You   
may now leave."  
  
Neelix was a little affronted by the brusque manner. He nodded   
curtly and left.  
  
  
*****  
  
"Doc, for someone who was on the critical list, your last patient   
certainly tore thing up in here."  
  
The EMH's eyebrow rose, while Tom Paris packed a small carryall with   
assorted medical supplies. "Indeed. I am not yet certain whether he was   
able to confound my instruments, or use these 'powers' of his to heal   
somewhat."  
  
Paris paused, "Not very much if he still needs _me_ to patch him up."  
  
If the doctor had been human, he would have sniffed. "He needs the   
supplies you're taking to him, Mister Paris. I don't think we will   
appraise him of your exact level of medical expertise.  
  
Paris rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Doc." He closed the carryall with a   
soft click. "Wish me luck."  
  
****  
  
Paris was in front of the brig door when it slid open in front of him.   
The young man was nearly bowled over by the exiting Neelix, looking   
less than his usual sunny self. The door slid closed behind the   
Telaxian before Paris could get even a glimpse of the prisoner.  
  
Neelix recovered first, and a quick smile spread on his face. "Mister   
Paris! I see that you've been asked to help with our guest."  
  
Neelix was a little too instantly cheerful for Paris's peace of mind.   
Paris drew him to the side of the corridor. "What's going on?" Paris   
already had the doctor's side of the story, and more information could   
prove useful. Neelix's smile fell a bit, as he glanced back over  
his shoulder to the closed brig door.   
"He seems calm now, but I heard our newest passenger   
caused considerable disruption in the sickbay."  
  
Paris nodded, "That he did. But did he say anything to you, anything   
that might tell you why he went on a rampage?"  
  
"No, but..." Neelix looked over his shoulder again, "I had the   
strangest feeling, as if he was ordering me to do something without   
saying anything out loud." Neelix started to add something, but stopped with   
the words unspoken.  
  
Paris clapped the Telaxian on the shoulder. "He's safe in the cell,   
right?" Neelix didn't answer before Paris swept by him, into the brig.   
The brig door slid shut behind the young human.  
  
****  
  
Another visitor, but this one was human, and in one of what was   
apparently the standard uniform of this rebel unit. The prisoner   
studied the young man. Maybe this one would have less resistance... Then the   
prisoner saw the carryall. "Those are the medical supplies I   
requested?" he rumbled in a conciliatory tone. Perhaps the   
newcomer would open the force field to treat him, and then...  
  
"The doc said you were intending to fix yourself up. I saw the mess you   
made of sickbay. You seem to be a lot calmer now, though."  
  
The prisoner moved closer to the entrance. The earlier visitor had set   
the bottle down just _there_... "Please move to the back of the cell,"   
Paris requested. The medical supplies were far to large to fit though   
the food delivery gap of the security field.  
  
Half a snarl, "What?"  
  
"Please move to the back of the cell," Tom repeated. "I have to lower   
the screens, and I'd rather not have to stun you before I do it."  
  
The prisoner moved backwards, prepared to rely on his speed to close   
with the young man before he could deposit the supplies and re-activate   
the force field.   
  
Paris nodded and touched a control on the security console. A second   
field sprang up between the prisoner and the entrance, before the first   
force field dropped. The prisoner choked back a snarl. Calm, calm...   
lull this youngster... the closer he came, the better contact could be   
made with his mind.  
  
Paris got his first good look at the prisoner once the second field was   
up. "I'm Lieutenant Tom Paris, acting assistant medic. The doctor sent   
me with the supplies you requested." Paris could see the scorch marks,   
and even some blast damage. "Are you sure you won't let the doc give   
you a hand?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Okay. That's your choice." Paris dropped the first force field and   
brought the carryall in. Its contents were soon arrayed on the tiny   
table provided for meal trays.  
  
Paris picked up the empty container and left the cell. He brought up   
the forward force field before he dropped the one in the rear of the   
cell. "Would you like privacy?"  
  
The prisoner was studying the supplies. "Yes," he murmured, almost   
absently.  
  
Paris dropped the carryall on the security console and left the brig.  
  
*****  
  
The medical equipment supplied was strange, utterly unlike any the   
prisoner had seen before. Only his own uncanny ability with mechanicals   
and electronics gave him any hope of success. The supplies were easier   
to use -- there were only so many formats possible for bandages and   
wound-cleansers.  
  
A bit of surgical tubing enabled him to get some of the brandy into   
his emergency liquid input lock. It wasn't as good as his own private   
stock, but the captain apparently had the potential to set a fine table   
on her own. Not that _he_ could ever take advantage of that fact. He   
doubted that the rebels could supply him with the elaborate   
life-support chamber he would need to entirely shed his life-suit.   
  
With what repairs he could make with the materials and equipment at   
hand, and another good pull of the brandy, the injured man let himself   
slide into a light healing trance.  
  
******  
  
"Fascinating..." Tuvok murmured, studying the image from one of his   
security cameras.  
  
"What is it?" Janeway asked softly. She cradled her cup of coffee;   
she hadn't had any sleep since her latest passenger had arrived.  
  
Tuvok pointed at the screen. "I have routed a certain number of   
medical sensors into the brig. According to them, our prisoner has   
somehow managed to heal himself to a certain degree." Tuvok paused, then   
continued, "I have tried minimal mind probes in his direction. What I   
perceived... was completely unfamiliar to me."  



	4. Star Voyager - Part 4

Star Voyager   
  
by Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
The doctor supervised the reconstruction of his 'beloved' sickbay,   
driving everyone crazy.   
  
Tom Paris looked up from where he was assisting the repair of   
sickbay. The doctor was hovering and fussing, worse than a mother with   
an injured child. Then again, for many years the sickbay had been his only   
home, and even an extension of himself... or was that the other way   
around?  
  
Tom looked up from the scattered pieces of medical equipment. The   
doctor's whining was getting on his nerves. But... he had an idea that   
might get him out from the doctor's thumb for a while and improve   
relations with the patient at the same time. "Let me talk to the guy.   
_I_ think he was the pilot. Maybe he'd like some company, someone else he   
could discuss ships with."  
  
Acerbly, "Considering he called us 'rebel scum', I'm not sure that   
won't provoke additional hostility. He'll think you're interrogating   
him."  
  
Paris grinned, "Who, me?"  
  
The doctor turned around with a frown. "Mr. Paris, I am not yet   
convinced that this man isn't a dangerous lunatic. Judging from the way   
he was able to rip consoles apart from a distance, he could kill you on a   
whim, before you or anyone else could stop him.  
  
Paris spread his hands, grinning. "He's injured, we have medical   
supplies. He'll figure out that cooperation is a good idea."  
  
The doctor scowled. Looking around his wrecked sickbay, he said,   
"That's what we thought when we brought him aboard."  
  
Tom shrugged, but determined to talk to the captain about his idea.  
  
*****  
  
Janeway looked up from her desk into Tom's youthful features. "And you   
really think you can talk to him?"   
  
Tom grinned broadly. "Well, _someone_ has to deal with him, unless   
we're going to stun him unconscious every time he gets rowdy. I   
wouldn't mind backup -- I've seen what he did to sickbay -- but he'll   
remember I brought him supplies before. Even if I'm a 'rebel', I've   
helped him."  
  
Janeway studied her young officer, and fought back a grin. Tom was   
dying to ask the other man about his ship, that was clear. "Very well,   
Mister Paris. I'll have security standing by to beam you out of there   
at the first sign of trouble." Thoughtfully, "And see if you can find   
out anything about this rebellion he's been accusing us of supporting.   
If we're about to cruise into a war zone, I'd like to know it."  
  
Paris shrugged. "His ship came out of the wormhole. I don't think   
his enemies are likely to be hot on his tail."  
  
Janeway took a sip of her coffee. "And that makes it equally   
unlikely that we can return him to his friends, either, doesn't it. You   
might mention that to him, Tom. It might make him more cooperative." /  
  
"And if he goes on another rampage?"  
  
"We have some heavily shielded cargo bays on deck 12. I imagine one   
can be refit into minimum living quarters."  
  
******  
  
The brig door slid open. The prisoner's meditation was disturbed by the   
entrance of the man who had introduced himself earlier as "Lieutenant   
Paris." The injured man blinked. For a moment he thought he saw his son   
but   
then he realized that this youngster was a little older, more mature.   
  
"What do you want, 'Lieutenant'?" he growled.   
  
Paris shrugged. "To talk. First, do you want to stay in this cell   
forever?" The other man listened, the mechanical breathing his only   
answer. Tom continued, "You made a real mess in sickbay. And you've driven our   
EMH close to a nervous breakdown."  
  
Paris could almost hear a chuckle. The injured man seemed much calmer   
now than he had earlier. Resigned? Or biding his time? But Tom at least   
had his attention. "So I thought I'd stop in and say hi."  
  
The gravelly voice was puzzled, "_Because_ of your 'EMH'?"  
  
Tom grinned, "I didn't mean it to sound like that. But, yeah, he gets   
on my nerves sometimes."  
  
The armored helmet nodded slowly. "There has been a droid or two in my   
experience that have not dealt well with organics. As your hologram   
doctor is a computer program, I would imagine the same thing might be   
expected."  
  
Paris thought, "'Droid? 'From android?" That was certainly something to   
discuss -- Paris had made _some_ contact, at last. He tried another   
foray. "It might be easier if we had something to call you, you know."  
  
The pause was filled with the labored mechanical breathing.  
  
***  
  
The injured man was stunned. Did this man -- this entire _crew_,   
actually not recognize him? He was far from home, indeed. The Captain   
might   
have been able to dissemble, but not this one. "Call me... Anakin   
Skywalker."  
  
  
Tom caught the pause, and wondered what had been deleted. A rank? From   
the commanding tone of voice this Skywalker was in the habit of using,   
he was at least a Captain, if not an Admiral. In fact, the more he knew   
of the man, the more Tom was reminded of his own father, Admiral   
Owen Paris. Tom nodded. "Admiral Skywalker." He waited for a   
correction. None came. "You might not believe this, but if you hadn't torn up the   
sickbay, you'd be a guest right now, not a prisoner."  
  
"Implying that if I behave myself, my status might be upgraded?" The   
tone wasn't wistful, more an "aha, I've found the trap in the gift."  
  
Tom shrugged. "I can't speak for the captain, but you might want to   
consider the possibility. If nothing else, you _do_ still need medical   
attention."   
  
The helmeted head nodded. Deep, smooth voice, "You introduced yourself   
earlier as 'acting assistant medic.' What is your usual post?"  
  
"I'm the helmsman. And I'm working on a new shuttle design I've named   
the Delta Flyer."  
  
The armored body froze for a second. "Your ship design is entirely   
foreign to me. But I've designed a ship or two myself." A pause, "When   
I was young, I designed and raced the winner of Boonta Eve."  
  
  
This Skywalker had Paris's full attention now, not as a prisoner or   
patient, but as a fellow pilot and ship designer. "I don't think I ever   
heard of that particular race, but... You are farther from your home   
system than you might have realized yet. The wormhole you came through   
has dumped you thousands of lightyears, minimum, from where you entered it.   
It's going to be a real challenge to get you home."  
  
Something in Paris's voice told Skywalker that "challenge" might be the   
greatest understatement of the younger man's life. And if it were true,   
then these people were not the rebels that were no doubt carving up the   
Empire right now, after his master's death.  
  
Skywalker returned the subject to medicine. "I prefer medical droids,   
generally. They are programmable, and easy to silence."  
  
Paris nodded his head. "Sometimes the doc gets on my nerves, too, but   
he's got instant access to the entire Federation medical database, and   
that speed's saved lives. It's just his bedside manner that needs   
getting used to."   
  
The breathing from the mask seemed eased, even though it was still   
raspy. "Lieutenant Paris, how did it happen that a ship designer and   
pilot got tagged to be an 'acting assistant medic'?"  
  
Paris grinned. Maybe the barrier was finally breached. "Well... that's   
a long story."  
  
The older man sighed, "I believe my schedule is clear for the next few   
hours." 


	5. Star Voyager - Part 5

Star Voyager - Part 5 -   
  
by Iejasu and Miklinar   
  
Standing next to the security station on the bridge, Janeway glanced at the viewscreen.   
Tom and Skywalker had been talking for hours.   
  
Tuvok remarked, "It seems that Mister Paris has found a way to communicate   
with our guest without provoking hostility."   
  
Captain Janeway nodded, smiling. "Yes. Admiral Paris would be proud of how his son   
is turning out."   
  
*****   
  
Vader's mind attacked the new information Paris had presented. Here he was unknown,   
as was the Rebellion, even the Empire itself. A totally unknown region of space?   
  
His first impulse was to take a vessel and head back towards home. If he could   
even find a way back! He was angry, upset, and weary. Being a prisoner was not   
something he had ever contemplated, much less endured.   
Worse, he had mostly himself to blame for the confinement. He had been warned   
many times that his anger could work to his detriment, even though it strengthened   
his use of the Force.   
  
"So. Are you going to be reasonable now?" asked the younger man.   
  
"Indeed," Vader rumbled. "You know, of course, that I need to leave this vessel as soon   
as possible, to return to my own people."   
  
Paris's eyebrow rose. "Admiral, you came through a wormhole. Getting back might not even   
be _possible_."   
  
Paris wondered suddenly how his patient managed to talk if his breathing was that   
far out of synch with his words.   
  
****   
  
Captain Janeway had listened to both Tuvok and Paris while deciding on how to deal with   
the prisoner. Tuvok favored the comm, but she felt that some kind of gesture would be   
appreciated. She would meet this menace eye to eye.   
  
  
Vader felt Janeway's approach even before she entered the detention area. The   
Dark Lord decided to stay seated -- he would seem less menacing. He remembered the captain   
from their brief encounter in sickbay. Her presence   
permeated the ship, as if it were an extension of her self. Obviously not the submissive   
type -- not even to an Admiral.   
  
"Mr. Paris said you wanted to see me."   
  
"Indeed, Captain." He hesitated... apologies were alien to him, but... "My first estimation   
of the situation was wrong. I apologize for my behavior."   
  
Her answer was a curt nod and a thin smile, making him feel even more awkward.   
  
"I wish to leave this cell, of course. And find a way back to my home." After   
talking with Paris, Vader had hopes that sympathy would create common ground   
between himself and the captain.   
  
Her posture changed when he mentioned 'home' -- she lost some of her military   
stiffness and projected more of a mother's strength. And she was facing   
him -- either very brave or very foolish. A thin smile slid onto his face...   
Or he was so far from home she saw nothing to fear in him. His smile faltered.   
  
"You are a very dangerous man, 'Admiral Skywalker.' " Janeway waited for the prisoner   
to correct her. "I have no intentions of endangering my ship and crew. But perhaps   
you can earn our trust."   
  
Captain Janeway saw the prisoner stiffen, then relax. "Surprised, Admiral?"   
  
Vader ignored the question. "I am willing to cooperate, Captain," he rumbled. "What do   
you have in mind?"   
  
"Mr. Paris seems to think you know some engineering. Main engines, or support systems?"   
The large man's shoulders relaxed more, shedding even more tension. Had he thought   
she would have him scrubbing bulkheads, in his damaged condition? She added, "Admiral'?"   
  
He sighed deeply, "Just call me Skywalker. Anakin Skywalker"   
  
Janeway nodded. "Very well, Mr. Skywalker. My question?"   
  
Despite the mechanical breathing, the prisoner's voice was matter-of-fact.   
"Fighter engines, mainly. But your systems are radically different from ours."   
  
Janeway nodded. "You'll learn." She nodded once more, "I have the feeling we _all_ will."   
Janeway touched her comm badge. "Doctor, the brig, please." The air shimmered and the   
EMH appeared in the console area of the brig.   
  
"I need a duty status on this man, Doctor," the captain asked. "What is he fit for?"   
  
The doctor sniffed. "I'm astonished that he's still alive, under Mr. Paris's tender   
ministrations." The hologram waved an instrument up and down in the air in front of the   
force field. He scowled, "I assume you want him assigned to _some_ work status, not   
simply put on the permanently disabled list."   
  
The EMH studied the instrument. "As far as I can tell from these readings, he's capable   
of minimal duty -- sitting at a desk, if it's not for too many hours a day." The doctor   
looked from Vader to the captain, "I don't think that will damage him any further."   
  
"What can you do to help him?" the Captain inquired.   
  
The EMH lost his carefully re-built calm. "Captain, this is a dangerous madman! I don't   
dare enter the cell -- he'll figure out a way to completely and permanently disrupt   
my program this time! I can't treat him under those conditions -- could you? If a   
patient was holding a phaser to _your_ head?"   
  
"I don't think he would misbehave. Not," said the captain, watching the prisoner,   
"if he knew he could be beamed into space if he attacked you."   
  
"Captain," the madman said wearily, "I am damaged, and would really like to get out of   
this cell. Does your culture have the concept of 'parole'?"   
  
"If you mean a promise from a prisoner to behave in exchange for some limited freedom,   
yes. Are you offering me your parole, Mr. Skywalker?"   
  
Vader's curt answer was short. "Yes."   
  
"I accept your parole. Doctor? Minimal duties?" she asked.   
  
"I must insist that he receive additional treatment for his injuries first,"   
the EMH insisted.   
  
Vader's patience was wearing thin -- he clenched his teeth to keep from grinding   
them in frustration. "My ... injuries will heal if given sufficient time."   
  
"No. You will permit the doctor to treat you." A slight change of tactic, "A prisoner   
deliberately prolonging his disability could be considered breaking his parole.   
Is that understood, Skywalker?"   
  
"I will permit the hologram to treat me," Vader growled in a low voice.   
  
Captain Janeway nodded. "Doctor, we will beam your patient into sickbay. Please   
be ready to treat him when he arrives."   
  
The doctor flickered, then disappeared. The captain turned back to Vader.   
"You know what I have to do if you violate your parole, Skywalker." It   
was _not_ a question.   
  
Vader nodded. "I understand, Captain. The safety of your ship is your main   
responsibility."   
  
"Keep that in mind," Janeway said. "It will make your stay here much more pleasant   
for all of us."   
  
Vader had noted with interest that the doctor blurred into scanlines before   
he disappeared. Janeway spoke into the air -- apparently, if she didn't talk   
directly toward the force field, the field muffled -- deliberately muddled? --   
her words. The captain turned toward the prisoner. "We're transporting you to   
sick bay... now."


	6. Star Voyager - Part 6

Star Voyager   
  
by Iejasu and Miklinar   
  
Vader was again surrounded by a bright light. The lack of sensation as he was   
"transported" still surprised him, but now the process only intrigued him.   
  
When his eyes recovered, he found he had been moved to a mostly-repaired sickbay.   
The "doctor" was waiting for him. "Welcome back, Mister Skywalker. Try not to break   
anything this time." The hologram waved at a table. "Be so kind as to get up onto the   
biobench, please."   
  
Vader shook his head in frustration. "My wounds are beyond normal medical treatment,   
hologram. The most I expect of you is putting some Bacta on the external injuries."   
  
The doctor's expression drew in in annoyance. "Assume I have some medical   
procedures you aren't familiar with. Up on the table with you. Or should I tell the   
captain you've decided to withdraw your parole?"   
  
Vader grumbled, but climbed onto the bed-platform. The suit made it impossible to be   
comfortable, but he was used to that -- it was a familiar discomfort, almost a reminder   
of home.   
  
The doctor continued, "Thank you. Now, if you will answer a few questions, we can   
start to repair you."   
  
The doctor noted the function of the breathing mask. It would be impossible to treat   
more than superficial injuries while the man was still armored, so... The doctor raised   
the oxygen level inside the local force field.   
  
Vader stared at the readings of his own instruments. The doctor had correctly analyzed   
his need for higher levels of oxygen if he were to survive outside his suit. There might   
be hope after all.   
  
In silence, the doctor helped the patient remove his armor.   
  
******   
  
Captain Janeway made her way back to her ready room. She got a cup of coffee from   
the replicator, and relaxed for a few moments, gazing out at the stars, at where the   
wormhole had deposited its fragile gift. For fragile he was -- the doctor's complete   
report marveled constantly over the patient's survival in his current condition. Then she   
touched the comm on her desk. "Mister Tuvok, Mister Paris, my ready room, please?"   
  
When Tuvok and Paris arrived, the captain signaled sickbay. "A moment of your time,   
Doctor, if you please."   
  
In the viewscreen, the doctor nodded. "My patient is unconscious at this moment."   
  
Janeway took a sip of her coffee. She began. "Our 'guest' has given me his parole, and   
has agreed to be treated by the doctor. He's also agreed to make himself 'useful.'"   
  
A grin flashed across Tom's face. "Captain, don't tell me you're expecting him to wash   
dishes?"   
  
Captain Janeway smiled at the archaic concept. "In a way, Mister Paris. He'll be given   
low security work, mildly technical, not menial. I'm not risking putting him in Main   
Engineering. But humiliating him won't help him adjust to being here. It doesn't work   
on young lieutenants who overstep their bounds, either. Does it."   
  
Obviously not a question, and obviously aimed at Paris, who had the grace to blush and   
grin, but otherwise not answer.   
  
Even Tuvok's Vulcan control could not purge all the tension from his stance. "The   
prisoner has abilities we have not yet explained," he warned.   
  
Janeway agreed. "They are unexplained now. I expect to learn more about him... as he   
will certainly learn more about us. Doctor, you're prepared to begin serious treatment?"   
  
"Already begun." the doctor's voice seemed almost smug. "Simply upgrading his   
prosthetics was easy. Healing him so he no longer needs them will be more of a   
challenge, but nothing requiring any medical breakthroughs. Just good, solid, medical   
technique." The doctor was ready to continue when the captain raised her hand.   
  
"Thank you, Doctor. I'm looking forward to reading your report. But I think we've   
distracted you enough from your patient."   
  
The doctor stopped in mid-word. "Yes, Captain." The viewscreen flickered, then went   
blank.   
  
*****   
  
Cold. Vader woke to a sensation of cold, on his face, on his chest, his arms and legs.   
The sensation was so unfamiliar he couldn't even identify it for a long moment. He tried   
to raise his head to look at himself, but the diagnostic table confined him.   
  
"What..." Vader stopped. He could hear his voice. Using his voder, he could modulate   
what he sounded like. This was nearly his natural voice, but stronger, less constricted...   
less damaged. And his breathing was not part of it, not autonomous any more. He drew   
in a breath and tried again. "Doctor. Status?" If the hologram could do this much, Vader   
would grant him the title of "doctor".   
  
A voice from across the room. "Ahhh, the patient is awake! You will be pleased to hear   
that I was able to repair some of the damage to your system immediately. To finish   
healing you, I will have to perform more surgery in the next few days, but I can promise   
you that you will soon be as good as new."   
  
The hologram moved into view.   
  
"I feel cold..." Vader muttered. There was no anger or distress in his voice, but almost   
wonder at the unaccustomed sensation.   
  
"We can take care of that for you, Mister Skywalker. Computer, raise the temperature   
around this bed by five degrees." The hologram's smile was friendly, no longer   
sneering. Vader felt tired, and as he felt the warm air flow around him, he closed his   
eyes and fell asleep.   
  
******   
  
Janeway entered sickbay. She had read the doctor's report, but wanted to check on   
Skywalker's progress personally. "How is your patient, Doctor?"   
  
The Doctor could hardly hide his satisfaction. "He's sleeping now. But I am quite   
satisfied with his progress."   
  
The doctor handed the captain a mask. "He's under a high partial pressure of oxygen,   
Captain. Wear this."   
  
Janeway put on the mask before stepping through the force field. The man lying on the   
table... His skin was a maze of scars, and there were countless tubes penetrating the   
pallid flesh. The mask didn't keep out the faint smell of antiseptics.   
  
The doctor stood on the other side of the bed, no mask necessary. "He's well on the road   
to recovery. I'm astonished he lived long enough to reach us. Even with all the medical   
procedures he was subjected to among his own people..."   
  
"He was too stubborn to die."


	7. Star Voyager - Part 7

Star Voyager - Part 7  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
"Good morning, Admiral." Paris seemed to be more cheerful than usual   
this morning -- once he had recovered from seeing Vader's face.   
  
The patient had had his breath mask removed, exposing bare flesh. The   
facial muscles seemed unresponsive -- Skywalker didn't use his face to   
signal emotion much, apparently. He had probably transferred that   
function to his voice. Although there _was_ an expression there now. The   
patient was obviously uncomfortable about having a naked face. His eyes   
showed expression, though, sometimes glaring, sometimes sparkling with   
humor.  
  
Vader nodded. "Lieutenant." Vader picked up the next data crystal and   
slid it into the reader.  
  
"What do we have you reading? You are supposed to resting and   
recovering."  
  
Vader looked up from the reader and lifted an eyebrow. "I'm to   
familiarize myself with Federatioechnology," he said dryly.  
  
"Surely not before breakfast, sir."  
  
Paris cleared enough space in front of Vader to settle the tray from   
the replicator. He handed Vader a napkin. Vader scowled a little. "Were   
you told I needed a nursemaid?"  
  
Paris only gave one of his typical "what of it?" smiles.  
  
Vader looked at the young man and sighed. "Very well, Lieutenant. I   
will take nourishment before I continue my studies."  
  
Vader forced himself to tolerate the interruption -- Paris was right:   
to heal, he needed nutrition. But this new technology -- wherever this   
'Federation' was hiding -- was fascinating. He enjoyed learning it and   
was eager to absorb as much as possible before going home. This new   
information could prove _most_ useful.   
  
But he still wondered about these strange people who helped strangers   
with so much enthusiasm. There was no reason for them to spend time and   
resources on his well-being. And they didn't seem to think about it.   
Not helping had never crossed their thoughts.   
  
Vader looked down at the blanket covering his legs. During the last few   
days, he had been operated on quite a few times. Every time he woke up,   
he was surprised, finding himself in far better shape than before. He   
had even, this morning, gotten up and walked a bit!  
  
He could breath almost like a healthy man again, eat and enjoy food   
without tubes or more technical assistance. The doctor had even mentioned   
making him look more normal again. A hesitant glance at one of the   
reflective glass walls in sickbay had shown him that some scars had already   
been removed.   
  
"Mister Paris. Is this ... Federation ... of yours always this ...   
generous?"  
  
Paris smiled. "Cooperation _is_ one of the major principles of the   
Federation, yes. And the Captain takes those principles very seriously."  
  
Vader's voice became pensive. "I see...."  
  
There was a lot he had to think about....  
  
*******  
  
Days passed.   
  
Vader felt restless. He wanted to get out of sickbay, wanted some   
physical activity that wasn't the necessary but despised "physical therapy."   
  
"Doctor. When will I be allowed to leave sickbay? I thought limited   
freedom was included in my parole."  
  
The doctor adjusted a few settings on the medical equipment. "I have a   
meeting scheduled with the captain this afternoon. That is the third   
item on my agenda."   
  
Vader nodded. "Very good."  
  
******  
  
Captain Janeway met the doctor in her ready room, out of the patient's   
earshot.  
  
The doctor worked his way methodically down his list. After all, the   
health of the entire crew was more important than that of one rescued   
passerby. Finally, "Captain, Mister Skywalker is fit enough to be   
transferred out of sickbay, to one of the convalescent quarters. And he's   
requested that he be allowed to walk around the ship. Supervised, of course   
-- as much for medical reasons as for security ones."  
  
"Do you think he is ready for light duty, Doctor?" Janeway had seen   
Skywalker's improvement. The newest member of her small family was not   
very talkative and seemed almost as detached from humanity as Seven, but   
he had been true to his word, once given.  
  
The doctor answered, "I believe so, Captain. I also believe his   
specialty is engineering?"  
  
Janeway nodded, "So I understand."  
  
The doctor continued, "Given his temper, I would not recommend putting   
him directly under Lieutenant Torres. Two such volatile personalities   
together..."  
  
"I had in mind his helping Mister Paris with the Delta Flyer. They seem   
to get along well."  
  
"As long as he does not try to lift heavy objects or twist into tiny   
spaces, he should be able to work for three hours a day."  
  
Janeway made some notations on the duty roster. "We'll escort him to   
Stores and get him fitted for some basic clothing. Com badge... that can   
be set to monitor his life-signs, and if necessary, we can beam him   
directly back into sickbay."  
  
"I'll send someone to take him to Stores."  
  
*********  
  
"Very well, Mr. Skywalker. You are to wear this comm badge every time   
you leave your quarters or sickbay. If you do not, it will be considered   
a violation of your parole."  
  
Vader took the comm badge and kept it in his hand. He sighed inwardly.   
"I understand, Doctor. There is no need to constantly remind me."  
  
Paris entered the sickbay. He looked toward the huge form of Admiral   
Skywalker. "I'm supposed to take you to Stores and then show you around,   
if you're feeling up to it."  
  
Getting out of sickbay was a prospect that lifted Vader's mood   
considerably. "Lead on, Lieutenant."   
Tom nodded and swung toward the door, which opened in front of him.   
Without further word, Vader turned on his heel and followed Paris outside.  
  
The ship's corridors were well-lit. They were only moderately spacious   
-- a squad of twelve men would have to pass three abreast. Federation   
design, again.  
  
On their way to Stores, Vader observed crew passing them, male and   
female, human and other species. They didn't seem as military as he was   
used to but still appeared disciplined and in good shape. Morale was not   
an issue on this ship, it seemed.   
  
He shook his head inwardly. The Empire would have never allowed females   
or non-humans to serve on a military vessel, but here it seemed to work   
out quite well. He made a mental note for later consideration.  
  
A female voice, "Tom, I've got some popcorn for tonight." Vader   
stopped. A uniformed female of unknown species was talking to Paris in a less   
than professional tone. Vader tried not to eavesdrop.  
  
Paris turned towards him and introduced the woman. "This is my wife,   
Lieutenant B'Lanna Torres."  
  
Vader lifted an eyebrow. Open fraternization on board a military   
vessel? With a mixed crew, it was no doubt inevitable. This Federation was   
indeed _ very _ strange. Vader nodded politely. "Lieutenant."   
  
Torres frowned for a moment. This man had cost Tom quite a bit of   
overtime, which came out of _their_ time together. She nodded her head once,   
curtly, "Mr. Skywalker. Tom has told me about you." The rumors about   
the newcomer on board, his strange abilities, were quite ridiculous --   
like the stories of someone called "Q" -- so she didn't mention them.  
  
After a few more words, Tom and his wife parted and the two men   
continued towards Stores. Paris saw Vader shake his head.  
  
"What is it, Admiral Skywalker?" he inquired.  
  
"Your Federation allows marriages between crew mates?" Paris could hear   
the curiosity in Skywalker's voice.  
  
Paris nodded. "Yes, they do."  
  
"Fascinating."  
  
Paris fought down a grin. That last had sounded just like Tuvok.  
  
When they reached Stores, Vader was handed two sets of mechanic's   
coveralls. The tall man smiled thinly. These clothes looked almost familiar.   
The needs of mechanics were the same, no matter where in the universe   
one currently was.   
  
"You'll still need something for social occasions." Tom looked through   
the replicator listing, trying to decide. Then he chose something his   
own father wouldn't object to.  
  
Vader was stunned. A prisoner was supposed to have the opportunity for   
... social occasions?? These people were not only strange... they were   
completely out of their minds! Tom added a suit -- something in a style   
similar to a uniform, but with no insignia and of a different cloth --   
to the stack in Vader's arms.  
  
A pair of low boots and a few sets of underwear, and they were done   
with Stores. "Time to head to your new quarters." 


	8. Star Voyager - Part 8

Star Voyager - Part 8  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
New clothes in his arms, Vader followed Paris back though the corridors to his new convalescent quarters. He could see the entrance to sickbay from his door. When they entered the cabin, Vader looked around. It was small by his standards -- junior officer's quarters rather than flag officer's quarters -- but looked quite comfortable, more comfort than he had seen in a very long time due to his own physical condition.  
  
He placed his clothes into one of the drawers -- years as a pilot kept him from leaving gear unstowed.  
  
Paris made sure the older man was familiar with the refresher and the other facilities in the cabin. The thing that caught his attention was the replicator, a device that could apparently produce almost anything.  
  
"Well, Admiral, the one here has been set to replicate only food and drink." Paris added slowly.  
  
Vader's eyes shone in interest. "_Any_ food or drink?"  
  
"We don't have unlimited power for the replicator rght now, so don't go overboard with it. Order what you want, but eat what you order."  
  
Vader nodded. These people were generous but they had their limitations. He walked up to the replicator and frowned for a moment, trying to remember something from his past he had liked. "Ruby bliel..."   
  
"That item is not in the database. Please enter the item's nutritional parameters or choose a different item," answered the ship's computer. Vader sighed. He expected as much -- if the Federation had never heard of him, he could hardly expect them to have drinks from his back-of-beyond homeworld.  
  
Tom watched the older man standing next to the delivery slot. "Problems? I should have warned you: the replicator won't produce real alcohol."  
  
"No, that's not it." Vader frowned for a moment. "Does your replicator have some sort of sweet drink containing a stim?"  
  
A smile flashed over Toms face. "Computer, one Coca-Cola. Tall glass, ice."  
  
A glass materialized with small cubes of ice and a transparent mildly bubbly brown liquid. Vader took the glass and took a cautious sip. His eyebrow rose. It wasn't too bad. The bubbles were an interesting addition.  
  
The men sat down and Tom called up the schematics of the Delta Flyer on the viewer. He started talking about the ship.  
  
Vader watched the younger man. He was obviously very enthusiastic about his flyer. As well he should be -- it was well-designed. Vader absorbed what details e could and asked questions.   
  
Some time later, Paris looked up and saw the eyes of the admiral blinking, trying to stay open. It wasn't _that_ late... He reminded himself that Vader was still recovering from his injuries. "I think I'll leave you for the night. You need the rest."  
  
Vader looked up, a hint of surprise in his eyes. Despite days here on Voyager, he was still not used to his captors being considerate.  
  
Paris was already standing next to the door.  
  
"Good night, Admiral. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at 0700 to go take a look at the Delta Flyer."  
  
The former Dark Lord watched as Paris walked out of his new quarters. The door slid shut behind him.  
  
Silence, except for the omnipresent ship systems hum and ventilator hiss, both well-muffled.  
  
Vader looked around his new quarters. He was indeed exhausted. His eyes burned and his back was aching. He stretched himself out on the bed.  
  
"Computer, light out." Vader was asleep by the time the computer dimmed the lights. 


	9. Star Voyager - Part 9

Star Voyager - Part 9  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
Vader woke up and stretched. He smiled -- after so  
many days in sickbay with no difference between sleep  
wear and day wear, he had forgotten to change. Not  
that the clock had ruled his clothing habits for a  
long time before that -- maintenance schedules, yes.  
  
He spent longer than he expected in the fresher,  
enjoying the privacy and the sensations against his  
bare skin. Bare skin! and no breathing apparatus!  
  
Hunger finally drove him out of the fresher. He stood  
in front of the replicator... something familiar  
first, a breakfast the doctor had put on his permitted  
menu several times. "Pancakes. Maple syrup." And what  
was that beverage...? "Hot cocoa."  
  
The air above the replicator platform sparkled and  
solidified. Vader nodded -- it looked and smelled the  
way he remembered. He took the dishes over to the  
table and started eating, bringing up the viewscreen  
with the Delta Flyer schematics.  
  
"Good morning, Mister Skywalker."  
  
The sudden voice with no entry noises or comm chime  
startled him. He leaped up into a combat-ready  
position -- overturning his food and drink as well.  
Vader snarled when he realized it was only the EMH.  
  
The doctor was standing in the middle of the room. He  
scowled for an instant at Vader's reaction. "I trust  
you slept well?"   
  
The guest _had_ slept well, despite his usual  
nightmares; the readouts were clear on that. The  
Doctor had learned that asking about his patient's  
condition helped maintain a good doctor/patient  
relationship.  
  
"Yes, Doctor. I slept well." Vader straightened into a  
more relaxed position. "But I would appreciate it if  
you would inform me of your visits _before_ you  
arrive." The growl in Vader's voice was clear.  
  
The doctor paused, processing this. He nodded,  
smiling. "Certainly, Mr. Skywalker. A person needs  
privacy. I was still thinking of you as a patient in  
need of urgent care rather than a convalescent."  
  
"Do you want me to report to sickbay?"  
  
"No need." The EMH scanned him with a medical  
tricorder. "Would you prefer your medications in pill  
or liquid form?"  
  
Vader hesitated. Then, "Liquid."  
  
The EMH nodded. "Replicator. Twice a day, medication  
ess-kay zero one, liquid form. Signal the patient when  
the dose is due to be taken."   
  
"Acknowledged," came the cool computer voice. A small  
cup of brown liquid appeared on the replicator  
platform. The hologram picked it up and handed it to  
Vader.  
  
"The replicator will produce medicines?"  
  
The EMH lifted an eyebrow -- it just had, hadn't it?  
"With the appropriate overrides, yes. Drink up. I'm  
told that the flavoring makes it not unpleasant."  
  
Vader sipped. A little sweet, like so many of these  
people's foods and drinks. The doctor watched until he  
finished the dose. "If you take your medicine on  
schedule, I won't have to hunt you down with a  
hypo-spray."  
  
"I understand. Is there anything else?"  
  
"You're in better shape than I expected." The hologram  
looked at the cocoa dripping onto the floor. "I don't  
imagine Mister Paris told you how to use the  
housekeeping facilities."  
  
Vader half-grinned, "No. He didn't."  
  
Vader listened carefully. Cleaning spills was a matter  
of using _Voyager's_ transporter technology to remove  
the errant material. "Ingenious."  
  
The EMH nodded. "It _does_ simplify keeping the  
sickbay sterile." The doctor clicked off the  
tricorder. "Tomorrow morning, then. And I will  
announce my arrival."  
  
Vader blinked -- the EMH was no longer there. Not that  
the doctor's sometimes abrupt manners surprised him  
any longer -- he was reminded of more than one medical  
droid of his acquaintance.  
  
Vader sighed. He was glad that _Voyager_ didn't  
employ hologram crewmen in more positions. Dealing  
with the doctor left him edgy -- his Force perceptions  
had nothing to relate to, not even the electrical  
flows of a droid.  
  
Being required to deal with more holograms would drive  
him mad.  
  
Vader ordered fresh servings of his meal. Then he  
switched from studying the Delta Flyer to Federation  
history. The species mentioned in the chronicles were  
all unknown to him -- Vulcans, Romulans, Andorians,  
Betazeds, Klingons, a hundred more, including the more  
recent enemies the Ferenghi, the Cardassians, and the  
Borg.  
  
The Federation expanded by using diplomacy, not  
conquest. The tactics of the Klingons or Romulans were  
more familiar, but it seemed this Federation was more  
successful than more combative societies.  
  
Vader finished his breakfast and had put his dishes  
into the reclaimer before Tom Paris arrived. The door  
chimed, then opened. "Good morning." The younger man  
sniffed -- the aroma of the cocoa was still in the  
air. "I see you're an early bird, Admiral."  
  
The inference was obvious, if a touch planet-bound.  
"Long ago, I found I could get work done uninterrupted  
if I started before normal 'office hours.' And I do  
not care much for sleep." Sleep was either nightmares  
or a little death -- both hateful.  
  
"Then I take it you're ready to meet the Delta Flyer?"  
  
Vader's face broke into a grin. "Certainly."  
  
Paris led the way to the hangar. Once inside, he let  
Vader spend time looking the ship over.   
  
Vader compared the flyer with the schematics in his  
head. It was larger than he expected -- he was still  
having trouble converting his measurements into  
Federation units.   
  
"A very nice ship, Mister Paris." Vader's hand slid  
gently over the smooth surface of the vessel. Small  
craft had been his first passion, swiftly and agilely  
dancing, along a race course or though space.  
  
Tom Paris didn't try to hide his broad smile. The  
Admiral had the heart of a pilot, and it showed.  
  
"Yeah, I'm kind of fond of it. Care to look inside?"  
  
Vader, half-crippled, almost beat Paris to the hatch.  
  
A simple inspection at first, comparing Federation  
instrument layout with Imperial standard. He asked  
Paris why some readouts were at what angles, but the  
younger man just shrugged. "Some things have just been  
that way for ages. It's easier than re-training your  
existing pilots to radically new designs every few  
years."  
  
Vader nodded. "Ideally, training insures that your  
hand goes to the right place, before you have a chance  
to think about it. I understand."  
  
Paris opened a panel in the cockpit and let Vader have  
a look inside. The components looked mostly  
Federation-standard, but there were some odd-looking  
bits... "Neelix donated those. They work better than  
the chips I had earlier."  
  
"Neelix. Your cook."  
  
"Neelix is a lot more than just a cook." Paris's voice  
was strange, filtered through the baffles of  
circuitry. "Among other things, he's got his own ship.  
Any pilot is a jackleg mechanic if he intends to get  
to his next port -- unless he's got a big enough crew  
to have an engineer."  
  
Vader hmmed. "I've been in that situation myself."  
Hesitantly, "Can I have a look at your warp drives?"  
  
Paris opened up the repair panels on the flyer's warp  
drive. Vader studied the visible parts, then reached  
out with his Force perceptions. The energy conduits  
were clean, but...  
  
"Give me a quick rundown again on warp theory, please?"  
  
Tom grinned. "You want the Naomi Wildman version?"  
  
Vader made a noise that Paris chose to interpret as a "yes."  
  
"Naomi says the engines make a bubble, and the bubble  
lets the ship float on top of normal space, like a  
bubble floating on water. The ship moves like there's  
wind blowing the bubble, except that the ship aims  
itself, instead of the bubble going where the wind  
blows it."  
  
Vader pulled his concentration back to Tom's words."What?"  
  
"Naomi's one of the pre-adolescents on board. Her  
mother's one of the crew. But Naomi's got a good,  
non-technical grasp of how a warp drive works."  
  
Vader nodded. "Any faster than light drive has to drop  
the ship out of normal space. I thought I read that  
your drives dive into and out of normal space at a  
high cyclical rate."  
  
"Yours don't?"  
  
Vader shrugged, "I worked mostly on normal-space fighters."  
  
Paris's eyebrow rose. Didn't remember, didn't know, or  
wouldn't say? "Let's get you up to speed on our STL  
engines first, then, before we introduce you to warp  
drives."  
  
Tom glanced over at a console. "Time for lunch. I  
think you've worked long enough for your first day on  
the job, sir."  
  
Vader ignored the implied invitation. "You may leave  
if you wish, Lieutenant." He continued tracing  
circuits, comparing them to his memorized studies.  
  
Tom grinned at the automatic reply. This guy  
_had_ to have been a commanding officer. "You  
don't want me to get into trouble with the doc, do  
you?"   
  
Admiral Skywalker turned towards Paris with a puzzled  
look on his face. Then the situation sank in. "No," he  
answered evenly, "we would not want that, would we."  
The prospect of having to allow himself to be lectured  
by the EMH for missing a meal was not at all pleasant.  
  
Vader helped Paris secure the open panels, then  
followed him out of the flyer. "I think Neelix has  
some things on the stove that you might enjoy."  
  
Vader shook his head. "I would prefer to dine by  
myself. It's a luxury I treasure after days of having  
the doctor hover over me, making sure I finish my  
vegetables."  
  
Tom sputtered with laughter. "I see what you mean."  
  
Paris escorted Vader to his quarters. "I'll check the  
duty roster and see when your next assignment is. In  
the mean time, you've got the doctor's instructions  
for physical activity."  
  
"Yes, I do." Vader sighed. Paris's company had  
suddenly become less than pleasant -- the younger  
man's tone had slipped from that of a fellow pilot to  
that of assistant medic. "Go. Have lunch."   
  
Tom shrugged. "Later, then."   
  
Vader watched the young man depart and shook his head.  
So much like other young officers under his command.  
  
Vader turned to the comm console. Something had  
occurred to him while in the hangar -- the database of  
_Voyager_ could be searched, the same way those at  
home could.  
  
It took only a moment of concentration to set up a  
search. Vader rattled off a long list of planets,  
systems, and historical names -- including Anakin  
Skywalker --, asking the computer for any local  
correlations. As an afterthought, he added the the  
words "Sith" and "Jedi," and, finally, the names of  
some foods and drinks.  
  
Actually, food sounded like a good idea. "Replicator.  
List of available foods. Randomize the list."  
  
The names of some of the dishes sounded appetizing,  
some less so, some were utterly repellant. Vader chose  
one, tried it. Then another. A third, then a fourth.  
Some of these were quite good, but none had the taste  
of home.  
  
The computer console chimed. "Requested search  
completed. Display or verbal report?"  
  
Vader's pulse leaped. "Both. Verbal first. What did  
you find?"  
  
*********  
  
B'Lanna was already waiting for Tom at a table. "Hi.  
Where's your shadow?" Tom read that as happy he was  
here, unhappy he was late, happy he was alone, worried  
that there was something wrong with the man Tom, after  
all, _was_ responsible for.  
  
"He wanted to eat by himself. Said he'd had enough  
company in sickbay to last him a good while."  
  
B'Lanna scowled. She knew the doctor could be  
infuriating, but... "You're spending an awful lot of  
time with him." The undertone was, "Instead of with  
your wife."  
  
Tom turned to pick up some food, stopped. "Not here."  
  
B'Lanna simmered, but kept quiet. This was a family  
matter, and Tom was right -- it shouldn't be aired in  
public. "You let him see the Delta Flyer."  
  
Tom smiled. Mentioning the flyer usually mellowed him  
out, even in the middle of a fight. "B'Lanna, you  
should see this guy... He's a natural engineer. He  
touches a machine and just knows how it ticks. If it's  
totally new to him, he needs some basic explanations  
but he picks up on it so quickly... I don't know how  
he does it."  
  
B'Lanna snapped, "Maybe he's using those so-called  
'powers' of his everyone's talking about. Is he still  
as hostile as he was? It doesn't look like he's torn  
you to pieces."  
  
"As far as I can tell, he thought we were his enemies  
when we brought him aboard. He was less than half  
conscious, and nearly dead from his injuries. I can  
remember when attack would have been your first  
response, too.   
  
"Now, he's a lot quieter. I think it's finally  
occurred to him how far from home he really is.  
Further than we are, B'Lanna."  
  
Captain Janeway noticed Paris and Torres sitting  
together at the table when she walked in. She looked  
around for a third, larger diner.   
  
She walked over to Tom and B'Lanna. "Where's Mister  
Skywalker?"  
  
Tom was startled at the sound of his captain's voice.  
"He said he wanted to eat alone. I don't think he's  
comfortable eating in company."  
  
Janeway nodded. "I guess I have to go to him, then, if  
I want to talk. Tom, I expect to see a report on his  
reaction to the Delta Flyer before lights out."  
  
The captain waved amicably at the pair and left the  
messhall, never noticing B'Lanna's scowl at her back.  
  
****  
  
The door to Skywalker's quarters chimed, then slid  
aside. Janeway entered the room just as a dish of  
something green and leafy went sailing past her head,  
impacting the corridor wall behind her.  
  
The pitcher was easy enough to identify. The  
convalescent had another missile in his hand, this one  
a cup of cocoa?  
  
Janeway snapped, "Skywalker!"  
  
Vader froze, then snarled, wordlessly. But he didn't  
throw the next missile, either.   
  
The doors slid behind Janeway. Skywalker's hand  
dropped slowly, and he put the cup on the console  
beside him -- a console with a library document on it,  
something from a fairy tale? Why would that have set  
off his temper?  
  
"Explain yourself, Mister." She waved at the  
assortment of dishes first... "You were told we were  
on short replicator rations." She had to steel herself  
not to grin at the childishness -- she had seen  
admirals throw temper tantrums in private before, and  
this had all the earmarks.   
  
"And even if we weren't, if you feel the need to  
exercise your throwing skills, we have sports  
facilities." She looked over her shoulder and saw  
marks of earlier collisions of food and door. "I'm  
waiting for an explanation."  
  
"A fairy tale," Vader snarled. "I had your computer  
search for my region of space, and there is nothing  
similar in your database except the mention of a group  
called the Sith -- but they were Earth mythology long  
before you achieved spaceflight."  
  
That explained the temper-tantrum, but not the buffet.  
And it excused neither. "I see. You've just discovered  
you're farther from home than _we_ are. So you  
react like a child separated from his mother for the  
first time against his will."  
  
One of the lump-filled stains behind Janeway on the  
door was still sliding down. "First, you're going to  
clean up the mess you've made. Then... I'm afraid   
this will cost you your replicator privileges for a  
while. You're to take your meals in the dining hall."  
Counting the dishes with only a bite or two (or  
sometimes none) taken from them -- not that she blamed  
him, since he had managed to order Klingon gakh, and  
it was still moving -- "Neelix will arrange for you to  
sample everything on the menu if you want, without  
having to order entire servings."   
  
Vader bent and picked up one of the plates -- some of  
the food was still clinging to it, in a sticky sauce.  
"I do not care to eat in company."  
  
"When your behavior improves, your replicator  
privileges will be returned. Even those will be  
limited at first"  
  
Silence, but the man continued to clean up the mess he  
had made. Someone had apparently showed him how to use  
the housekeeping utilities -- had he thrown another  
tantrum that hadn't been reported? She would have to  
grill Paris -- or maybe the doctor had not bothered  
her with a report of a minor incident.  
  
"Very well. Someone will escort you to the dining hall  
at 1800. Computer, suspend replicator function for  
this suite for the time being."  
  
"Captain..."  
  
Judging from the tone of voice, that wasn't a protest  
of loss of privilege, but something else. "Yes, Mister  
Skywalker?"  
  
"The replicator is programmed to issue medicine to me  
twice a day. I would prefer to still receive that  
here, rather than having to report to sickbay."  
  
By this point, the only sign of the tantrum left was a  
stain on the corridor wall outside, where Skywalker's  
suite couldn't clean. She nodded curtly. "Computer.  
Restore medical replicator functions to this suite."   
  
Then she looked at the stack of dishes still on the  
table-top. "Were you looking for something in  
particular?"  
  
Vader relaxed when the captain reprogrammed the  
replicator -- dealing with the EMH would not improve  
his temper right now. "I was trying to see if any of  
your foods were at all similar to what I had at home."  
There was a catch in his voice at the last word.  
"Nothing. Your tastes are alien."  
  
Janeway's eyebrow rose. "You had no chance to  
experiment while you were still in sickbay?"  
  
Vader snorted. "The doctor had some very definite  
ideas as to what was suitable. And not much  
imagination."  
  
Janeway laughed. Vader was startled, then joined her.  
He looked at the stack of dishes, and had a sudden  
vision of what Governor Tarkin's reaction would have  
been to the food-throwing. Or Motte's or... Or his  
son's. Or even Tom Paris's.  
  
Janeway swung the computer display to face her. "I'm  
not familiar with this fairy tale. Is there an Irish  
equivalent?"  
  
****  
  
  
Tuvok was waiting for Janeway just out of  
line-of-sight of the convalescent quarters. She smiled  
at his predictable behavior. "The doctor reported some  
non-typical readings from our guest. I thought it best  
if I were here for a swift response."  
  
"If our guest goes on a rampage, your best response  
would be a heavy stun to his location, then we can  
sort out the combatants."  
  
"Yes, Captain." Tuvok touched his comm badge and told  
a listener to stand down. "And in this case, Captain,  
who was Skywalker attacking?"  
  
"His own failing morale, Mister Tuvok. He had the  
computer try to track down his home, and there is  
literally nothing in our databanks leading to anywhere  
he knows. He's either from a different galaxy  
entirely, or from somewhere else in time. The past, so  
far that no records remain of his Empire, or the  
future."   
  
Janeway grimaced, not caring for the possibility of  
another visit from the "Time Patrol," her name for the  
enforcers of the Temporal Prime Directive. Still, if  
Skywalker were from the future, the temporal police  
had a chance of getting him home. In her estimation,  
_Voyager_didn't.  
  
The two Starfleet officers walked toward the turbolift  
that would take them to the bridge.  
  
"There is still another possibility, Captain," Tuvok  
continued. "You have read the reports of the parallel  
universe encountered by Captain Kirk, wherein the  
Federation was instead an Empire, in which promotion  
was by assassination?"  
  
Janeway shook her head. "I'm familiar with the  
parallel universe, but it isn't his. The place names  
and races were nearly identical to ours -- he would  
have found equivalents."  
  
"I agree. I present, instead, the theory of a universe  
less than parallel, but which was able to intersect  
ours by means of that wormhole. Such an opening might  
never occur again. Or, if one end opens -- our end, or  
it is irrelevant -- , the other might not return him  
to his own place."  
  
Janeway nodded. "I'm not sure whether we should try to  
get him home, or just persuade him to resign himself  
to exile."  
  
"_Voyager_ does not have the resources to spend  
on extensive experiments in wormhole 'cultivation.'  
You are responsible for the welfare of more than this  
one man, Captain. No matter how intriguing you find  
him."  
  
Janeway lifted an eyebrow. She wasn't sure she liked  
the implications of that last statement. Nor if she  
dared contest it.  
  
Tuvok's expression stayed blank. Janeway expected no  
less. 


	10. Star Voyager - Part 10

Star Voyager - Part 10  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
The dishes were absorbed by the recycler in his quarters, and Vader had spent   
more time in the refresher, letting the hot water pound his muscles. Finally,   
he shut down the shower and stepped into the dressing area. "Computer. The   
doctor has authorized physical exercise for me as therapy. What are my options?"  
  
The list, in the computer's blandly pleasant voice, was lengthy but unhelpful,  
consisting mostly of sports unfamiliar to him, half of which ended in the word   
"ball." Then the words "martial arts" caught his attention. "Computer. Is there   
a combat form with sticks a meter to a meter and a half long, or blades the   
same length? Hand grip to accomodate two hands."  
  
The computer listed several, unfamiliar names of course, but... "Display the   
equipment used for each of those combat forms. Are any of them still used in   
real combat? Or are they only sport now?"  
  
The screen flickered. One of the forms was something called "kendo", and the   
illustration of the origin of the sport included a combatant in a suit of   
samurai armor.  
  
Vader stared at the picture, scarcely breathing. Then, "Computer, show me   
of this 'kendo' sport."  
  
=============  
  
"He's doing _what_?" Janeway in her ready room, as Paris and Kim stopped in   
to report on the convalescent.  
  
"Skywalker is in one of the gyms, practicing something that looks a lot like   
kendo kata. And you know, Captain, the helmet that was with his life-support   
suit looks a bit like a samurai helmet."  
  
Harry Kim nodded. "I'm not that familiar with Japanese, but none of the names   
he mentioned sounded like it. So he's not from some lost Japanese space   
colony. People who would take the culture with them even to the extent of   
armor designs would hold onto their language."  
  
Tom grinned, "A pity. If it had been an Earth colony, there would be a chance   
of a shortcut home."  
  
Janeway nodded. "Computer. Locate Skywalker."  
  
"Anakin Skywalker is in gymnasium three."  
  
"Can we have a visual?"  
  
A viewscreen lit. There was an image of Skywalker, in overalls, swinging a   
bo-ken through obviously stylized movements. "That's odd..."  
  
"I see it, too, Mister Kim. He isn't paying any attention to edge surfaces.   
It's as if he expects the blade to cut from any angle."  
  
Paris's voice, cheerfully, "Maybe he should try the singlestick instead of a   
sword."  
  
Janeway took another sip of tea as she studied Skywalker. "I wonder how he   
would do against an opponent? Computer! Is there anyone on board who's   
practicing this martial art?"  
  
"Not at this time."  
  
"When was the last time the equipment was used?"  
  
"Three years, seven months, four days."  
  
Janeway nodded. She was reluctant to ask who, lest it be one of the crew who   
hadn't survived this long.  
  
"Are there any others practicing weaponed forms of any martial arts?"  
  
Tom groaned just before the computer spoke. "Lieutenant B'Lanna Torres practices   
with the Klingon batleth at semi-regular intervals."  
  
Janeway turned and looked at Paris.   
  
Paris shook his head. "That's a very bad idea, Captain. They would kill each   
other."  
  
Kim, puzzled, "I'm sure there are holodeck programs of kendo classes. Why don't   
you just suggest one of those to him?"  
  
Janeway hastily swallowed her mouthful of tea. Paris was trying to keep a laugh   
from exploding. "That... would not be a good idea," he finally choked out.  
  
Janeway started to nod, stopped. "I don't know. Do you think he might appreciate   
taking a swing or two at a hologram? I'm sure he's been tempted by the doctor."  
  
==============  
  
"What is this place?"  
  
Tuvok was watching, Paris knew -- Paris hoped. "It's called a holodeck."  
  
Skywalker scowled. "More creatures like your EMH?"  
  
"In a way. but I think you'll like this program. Computer. Kendo One."  
  
The walls shimmered and became translucent panels in thin black frames, with   
woven-fiber mats on the floor. At one end of the room knelt a man in what   
might be Jedi robes! The four students(?) facing the robed man wore short   
wrapped tunics very similar to Padawan practice clothing.  
  
Paris watched Skywalker. The older man's shoulders bunched and relaxed, and then   
bunched again. "What is this? Do you mock me?"  
  
"Is it familiar? This is the standard beginners' class for the weapon form you   
were practicing."  
  
"The details are wrong... and the people are not here. They're like that doctor   
of yours, not real at all."  
  
"Exactly like the doctor. Programmed with a set of behaviors." Paris said,   
"Program, begin."  
  
The kneeling man in robes rose, approached Paris and Vader. He bowed. "Welcome   
to my school. Which of you wishes to become a student?"  
  
Paris bowed, a little lower than the hologram, and Vader followed suit after a   
short hesitation. "I'd like you to test Mister Skywalker here, and find out   
where he belongs in our lessons, sensei. He's trained, but in a slightly   
different form."  
  
The sensei nodded curtly. "Very well. I will test him."  
  
One of the "students" approached and led Vader to a changing room, where he was   
given a practice uniform. The material felt very familiar, and the cut... "You   
are a student here?" Then he reddened. He was trying to have a conversation with   
a computer program.  
  
"Yes, I am a student here." The student rattled off a set of rules, something   
it called "courtesy of the mat." Vader nodded, barely listening. "Come with me."  
  
Back to the dojo. Paris was sitting on the sideline, watching. The student   
stopped and bowed just as it entered, not to the teacher but to the room.  
  
Vader hesitated and then bowed. Paris nodded, ever so faintly. Good. No   
disasters on the scopes, not yet...  
  
The teacher -- sensei? -- rose to his feet again. "I will test you now." One   
of the students approached with a wooden sword in his hand. Damn. Vader had   
been so accustomed to a lightsaber that he had no skill with an edged weapon.   
He glanced over at Paris. At least the young man didn't know that Vader had   
borne high rank in his own form, embarrassed to have to begin again.  
  
"Show me your practice forms. In kendo, they are called 'kata'."  
  
Vader swept through a dozen poses, concentrating on leading with the edge of   
his wooden weapon. Only once did the teacher signal for him to stop, and   
correct his angle of attack. "I see. You have experience, but in the combat   
form rather than the sport."  
  
"How can you tell?"  
  
"You are more focused in arriving at the next pose with strength than with   
grace. I will now test you against an opponent." The sensei raised a hand   
and the student returned. "Armor him."  
  
===========  
  
Vader returned to his quarters tired but pleased. He had fared better than   
he had expected in an unfamiliar form. In fact, the holographic nature of   
his opponent threw him off more than the single-edge striking surface.  
  
Back into the refresher, to sluice off the sweat of training. He heard the   
door chime through the rush of water but ignored it.  
  
A voice, in his room? How dare they?   
  
"Admiral, it's dinner time. Are you ready?"  
  
Vader cursed under his breath. Janeway had removed his solo dining privileges.   
So he had to go out among the crew, and let himself be gawked at. It was almost   
enough to cost him his appetite.  
  
In fact, it had. The only thing keeping him from turning Paris around and then   
retreating into either studies or sleep was the prospect of facing the doctor --   
twice as annoying as any assortment of strangers.  
  
"Just a minute."  
  
One of the coveralls was still pristine -- one had been a casualty in the food   
wars, making it useable for crawling around the flyer but not for dinner. Vader   
dressed himself.  
  
Paris was waiting. "Once I've taken you a couple of times to the dining hall,   
you can go on your own. Same for the dojo."  
  
Vader lifted an eyebrow. "I was able to find my way to the gymnasium with only   
the computer for a guide. Is the dining hall more difficult?"  
  
Tom quirked a grin. "Not exactly. The real labyrinth is inside -- the social   
interactions. I wouldn't feel right just steering you to the door and running   
off."  
  
"Excellent. Then I won't suggest you spar with me."  
  
Paris blinked. Was that humor? Or a veiled threat? "O--kay. Follow me."  
  
One of the crew members passing seemed familiar -- it? he? she? reminded Vader   
of the trip to Stores. "Can armor and a practice weapon be replicated so I can   
keep them in my quarters, to practice?" Vader asked. Slyly, "It will be easier   
for the doctor to monitor my condition, to prevent me from over-extending myself."  
  
"Hm. With your size, it might not be a bad idea, at least for the armor. But   
I think the computer can be set to monitor you in the gym, too. And the gym   
will certainly give you more room for swinging that stick. I'm not sure you   
can exercise your weapon's reach in your quarters without hitting the walls."  
  
"I had not considered that. Are the holodecks rationed like the replicators?"  
  
Tom didn't have a chance to answer. The door in front of them opened into a small   
hall, capacity perhaps fifty people. There were only a handful of diners at   
present. And the person behind the counter was the too-cheerful non-human who   
had delivered the brandy to Vader, in the cell.  
  
Neelix looked up and saw Tom Paris... and was that Mister Skywalker? Neelix had   
never seen Skywalker outside his pressure suit, but there was no one else of   
that size and build on board -- Neelix would have been told of any other   
strangers arriving.  
  
"Welcome, Mister Skywalker! You're looking well. What would you like for dinner?"   
Neelix rattled off a dozen different selections, none familiar to Vader at all.  
  
Tom had his orders. "Neelix, set up a plate with a little bit of everything. If   
the Admiral likes something, he can ask for more of it. And give us a couple of   
Cokes, to start with."  
  
Neelix grinned and set to arranging small amounts of different foods in a   
pleasing pattern on the plate. Paris sighed and ordered the drinks from the   
replicator himself. "What other drinks have you tried?" Paris settled down   
into a chair and put the two drinks on the table.  
  
============  
B'Lanna fumed. This was too much. "Computer, where is Tom Paris?"  
  
"Lieutenant Paris is in the dining hall."  
  
That was unexpected. "Where is Skywalker?"  
  
"Anakin Skywalker is in the dining hall."  
  
B'Lanna snarled and stalked out of their quarters.  
  
=============  
  
"And what is this?"  
  
Neelix looked at the plate, trying to remember which food he had put where.   
"I think that was the pot roast. Would you like some more?"  
  
"What kind of animal is a 'pot'?"  
  
Neelix kept the same cheerful expression, but one of the other diners giggled.   
"It refers to the original method of cooking, pre-replicator. The actual meat   
is beef, from a cow."  
  
Vader nodded. He had encountered cow meat before. "Yes. More pot roast."  
  
Tom looked up just in time to see the door slide open and an angry female   
Klingon/human engineer stride in. He gulped back a "yikes!" and stood up.   
"B'Lanna! I'm sorry -- my orders changed, and I got sidetracked before I   
had a chance to tell you."  
  
She took a deep breath, ready to launch a tirade... Something about the   
stranger caught her attention. She scorned her mother's Klingon superstitions   
about sensing the warrior spirit in others, but this man...  
  
Why hadn't she noticed it, when she had met him on his way to Stores?   
  
"Lieutenant Torres." The stranger's voice was deep. "Your mate has been ordered   
by the captain to herd me to the dining hall. His duty is fulfilled -- I   
release him to your tender mercies."  
  
The outrageous statement completely disarmed Torres. She laughed. "Don't tell   
me he hasn't been enjoying it."  
  
"You knew that of him before you claimed him as a mate. Why would you change   
him now?"  
  
Paris's jaw dropped. B'Lanna was actually considering Skywalker's words. He'd   
seen ships counselors take longer, with less dramatic results.  
  
Then again, no doubt Skywalker knew the psychology of anger very well from   
the inside. Paris's eyes narrowed. And was willing and able to use his knowledge   
to manipulate others, for his own comfort.  
  
=======================  
  
Seven of Nine observed the new menber of the crew. During her last routine   
medical examination, she had been forced to listen to the doctor babble on   
about his newest patient, one Anakin Skywalker -- expecting her to be   
interested because of Skywalker's cyborg components.  
  
Those particular components were almost laughably primitive compared with Borg   
technology, but she felt some sympathy with the stranger -- Captain Janeway was   
apparently forcing him into a social situation he did not feel ready for, not   
unlike herself. But the doctor had not mentioned any mechanism for linking into   
a group mind, so the stranger could not possibly as alone as she felt herself   
to be.  
  
Skywalker looked over at Seven and looked puzzled. He leaned over toward Tom   
Paris and asked him something in an undertone. Paris looked up and then answered   
him. Tom then nodded toward her, with a little gesture that he had used before   
to try to summon her. She quirked an eyebrow at Paris, and turned slightly away,   
consuming the nutrients she had selected for this meal, so she could return   
to duty.  
  
Someone stood in her light, standing and not passing her to the food counter.   
She looked up. And up. She came to her feet, backing up.  
  
It was Skywalker. He stood silent, watching her. Finally, Seven spoke. "Do you   
require something?"  
  
"You are the only one in this crew who has cybernetic implants."  
  
"Yes. I was formerly a member of the Borg Collective."  
  
She saw his lips move slightly with the word "Borg," but there was no fear, no   
hate, just curiosity. "Your cybernetic implants -- do they cause you difficulties?"  
  
"At times, yes. But the doctor has not been able to enable my body to funtion   
entirely without them. My current condition is a compromise."  
  
She studied him in return, almost in self-defense. There was no sign he saw her   
as a female, any more than he reacted to the label "Borg." In fact, his   
curiosity... "You are an engineer."  
  
"In my own 'collective', yes." He moved to where he could see her ocular implant   
better. A small group was gathering around them -- this was a novelty to a crew   
too well used to each other.   
  
Paris came up and stood next to Skywalker. "Admiral, let her finish her dinner.   
You'll be with us for a while -- plenty of time to talk to her."  
  
Skywalker half-turned his head to notice Paris, then nodded ever so slightly.   
"You are right, Mister Paris."   
  
Seven turned and left the dining hall, her meal unfinished.  
  
==========  
  
This Seven female... Vader saw the obvious implants, but the Force-flows around   
her were... unusual, to say the least. He was used to the feel of Paris and   
Janeway, and was even resigned to the "empty air" of the EMH and the kendo   
instructor and students. His face quirked in a twisted grin. Torres had a fine   
depth to her anger -- if she had had any talent for using the Force, she could   
have been an interesting apprentice.  
  
But Seven... Almost a void in the Force, a bubble where it wasn't. It   
couldn't be just the implants -- even ignoring his own case, there were many   
of the old Jedi who had had artificial limbs or even artificial organs like   
hearts or lungs.  
  
Was it possible the Borg had learned a shielding technique? It certainly   
wouldn't be useful for concealment, but it made her utterly unreadable by   
any technique Vader knew that didn't require physical contact.  
  
Fascinating.  
  
Vader re-read the database entry on the Borg.  
  
=====================  
  
"Doctor, I would like to examine the medical records of the crewman called Seven   
of Nine."  
  
The EMH's voice was filtered through the comm system, removing some of the deeper   
tones and sharpening the remainder. Yes, it was possible for his voice to become   
more unpleasant. "I'm afraid I can't authorize your access to those records   
unless I get a release from Seven herself."  
  
Vader nodded curtly, "Do so," and cut the comm.  
  
========  
  
The EMH sputtered. How dare Skywalker order him -- _order_ him -- order _him_ --   
to get Seven's consent to release her records to a mere medical layman? The   
doctor had had quarrelsome patients before, but this Skywalker was inventing   
new ways to be annoying at every turn.  
  
The hologram filed Skywalker's "request" on his job queue -- somewhere after   
having the airfilters on empty crew's quarters analyzed for stray microbes. Then   
the doctor went back to his routine.  
  
===========  
  
Vader scowled slightly. The Borgs' "collective" was literal rather than just   
another name for a government. He had erred in refering to his own culture as a   
"collective" when he talked to the Borg... The _former_ Borg. She used singular   
pronouns to refer to herself.   
  
Vader had encountered hive beings before. They didn't feel like this. Then again,   
those hives had been natural collectives, not technologically created ones.  
  
There was no early history of the Borg available on the ship's database, only   
the chronicles of Federation encounters. Perhaps Seven had more information.  
  
The earliest mentions of the Borg also mentioned a being named Q. This Q was   
attributed with unlikely powers -- not even the Emperor could propel a ship   
thousands of light years in an instant, with a mere thought.   
  
Vader ah'd. That explained some of the unspoken remarks directed at him -- they   
were afraid he was one of these Q (the records were vague on how many there were   
of them). Idiots! If he were that powerful, their cell would have held him long   
enough to stride through the force field, if he bothered to walk instead of just   
blinking to another location. And why would Q simulate physical damage to himself?  
  
Another location. Vader sighed, a little melancholy. Maybe Q could return him   
to his home. But did Vader want to know the price Q would put on that service?   
No. Some things were too dearly bought. If staying with these Federation people   
for the rest of his life kept Q from interfering with the lives of Luke and Leia,   
it was an easy choice.  
  
Unless Q could be controlled... Tuvok had powers that overlapped Jedi skills.   
Vader hadn't tested his screens, or resistance to control. Q was, obviously,   
untested as well. And would remain so, if Vader had a say in the matter.  
  
===========  
  
"Who was that man who was talking to you in the dining hall, Seven?"  
  
Seven looked down at her questioner, Naomi Wildman. "Anakin Skywalker."  
  
Naomi waited. Eventually, Seven continued, "His ship exploded after a trip through   
the wormhole we encountered recently. He has spent most of the intervening time   
in sickbay."  
  
Naomi was too used to different species to find mere appearance remarkable.   
"What did he mean when he talked about 'his collective'? Is he a Borg, too?"  
  
"He is not a member of the Borg collective. Nor do I believe he has been in the   
past. His usage of the word collective was an inaccuracy in the vocabulary   
supplied by the universal translator."  
  
Naomi paused. Then, tenatively, "What did he want?"  
  
"He asked about my Borg implants. I understand that he also has cybernetic   
implants, much more primitive."  
  
Naomi thought that over. "Maybe he wants to upgrade his technology."  
  
"Perhaps. Although the doctor is researching removing them entirely as Skywalker's   
health improves."  
  
"Why can't the doctor do that for you? Don't you want to give your implants up?"  
  
Seven turned and looked down at the little girl. "The Borg implants have proved   
difficult to remove without damaging me. Perhaps Skywalker will have more luck   
with his.  
  
"Now. What is the answer to the fifth problem?"  
  
Naomi turned back to her lesson.  
  
===========  
  
Janeway studied the doctor's report. Ah. Skywalker had been startled and overturned   
a drink this morning, reason enough to learn how to use the housekeeping utility.   
If the doctor visited _her_ unexpectedly...  
  
She activated the holographic sensei. He was a limited personality for social   
purposes, but could discuss his students with ease. "Tell me about your new   
student, sensei."  
  
The sensei bowed, which Janeway returned, even though she remained seated. "The   
pupil Anakin is well-trained in a form of kendo with certain unusual   
characteristics. The chief of these is his lack of preference for edge over   
flat of the blade in attacking. This would indicate that he is accustomed to   
an impact weapon like a bo-ken rather than a cutting one like a katana, except   
that his follow-through is that of a cut."  
  
"I've seen combat with flameswords -- that would produce a non-preference like   
the one you describe."  
  
The sensei bowed again -- a sign that he was going to contradict a superior.   
"He would not be able to parry with such a flamesword, and he shows great skill   
in defending himself -- again, with no preference of edge or flat."  
  
"Do you know of _any_ weapon that would fit the characteristics you've observed?"  
  
"I have not."  
  
"Thank you. Is there anything else I should know?" Such a question was a stretch   
for this kind of instructor, but once in a while, Janeway got some surprisingly   
useful answers.  
  
This particular hologram was programmed to read body language from a wide range   
of species -- essential when waiting for an attack. "He spent significant amounts   
of time studying the uniforms of the other students and myself, as if he found   
them almost familiar. And his glance went first, in each case, to the belt. But   
he knew nothing of the ranking system of white, brown, or black belt."  
  
"I see. Thank you. You may go."  
  
The hologram bowed and disappeared.  
  
==================  
  
Paris grumbled. B'Lanna was mad enough about his spending time with Skywalker --   
now the captain wanted him to do a technology breakdown of Skywalker's obsolete   
life-suit. And especially to look for weapons.  
  
Some of the components were obvious -- air supply, voder/vocoder, some medical   
readouts. Half the interesting bits were too damaged to analyze -- then again,   
if they had been intact, they wouldn't have been so interesting.  
  
Ah. Paris found something the captain had specifically asked about. He commed   
Janeway. "Captain, you were right. There's some kind of fixture at the waist,   
like a hanger for a tool."  
  
The captain's voice from the comm, "Is it fairly easy to break-away? As if it   
would support a weapon for quick access?"  
  
"It might be -- hard to tell, it's one of the scorched areas."  
  
"Thank you, Mister Paris. I'm eager to see your report."  
  
Tom was sure he's thumbed the comm off when he muttered, "Why don't you just   
ask _him_?"  
  
The captain's voice, "An excellent idea, Lieutenant. I think I will."  
  
This time, red-faced, Paris made sure the comm was disconnected -- and even then   
he didn't mutter for an hour.  
  
================  
  
Janeway laughed -- she had a good idea of how embarassed Tom was right now. Some   
months back, she'd noticed that many of the comm circuits didn't cut out   
instantly -- a situation too trivial to bother Engineering with. Now, she always   
waited a moment listening before closing the comm on her own end. It was one way   
to monitor the crew's morale, even if less than purely ethical.  
  
"Janeway to Skywalker. We need to talk."  
  
The answer was neutral, at least over the comm. "As you wish. I'm in my quarters,   
unless you'd prefer to meet elsewhere."  
  
"Stay where you are."  
  
=================  
  
Before she left her ready room, she reviewed Skywalker's dining habits, especially   
what he drank. She sighed. No pattern at all, not yet -- he was still testing   
possibilities. She noted a few beverages that he hadn't encountered yet.  
  
================  
  
The door chimed but didn't open. "Mister Skywalker?"  
  
"One moment," came a deep voice over the comm. "You may enter." The door slid aside.  
  
Janeway looked around -- no obvious reason for the delay -- perhaps Skywalker   
hadn't been entirely dressed.  
  
He was standing, and bowed slightly at her entrance -- one of the sensei's   
mannerisms. "Captain."  
  
She jerked her chin ever so slightly toward the replicator. "May I offer you a   
drink, Mister Skywalker?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
She walked over to the replicator. "Tea, Earl Grey, hot, two servings. Cream,   
lemon, and sugar on the side." A small tray appeared, two steaming cups of liquid.   
Janeway carried it over to the table. "I usually take my tea with sugar, but some   
favor it with either cream or lemon as well -- not usually cream and sugar at   
the same time, though." She seated herself and mixed sugar into her cup and sipped.  
  
Skywalker sat across the table from her. He lifted the cup and sniffed it first,   
then took a tiny taste. Slowly, because of the warmth, he sipped it, without   
adding anything. "Interesting. So many of your drinks are sweet -- I had wondered   
if your replicator was capable of other tastes."  
  
Janeway smiled, "You asked Tom Paris for a sweet drink the first time, and he   
told Neelix. You'll have to let them know your preferences otherwise."  
  
Skywalker inclined his head. "I shall. Captain, I do not believe you are here to   
discuss..." he carefully pronounced, "Tea, Earl Grey. Hot or cold."  
  
She took another sip. "You're right, of course. I was talking to the sensei. Your   
weapons expertise has him puzzled -- he can't place your style. What's your usual   
weapon? Maybe we can replicate one for you -- you can teach the sensei the new   
form."  
  
"It's called a lightsaber." Skywalker detailed a weapon of energy that would cut   
anything crossing the blade except another lightsaber or certain other shields.   
  
"Sounds like a useful tool, in certain applications. We don't have anything like   
that."  
  
"I could..." then Skywalker stopped.   
  
Softly, "You could do what, Anakin?"  
  
Her use of his given name set off more alarms, instead of relaxing him like she   
probably hoped. "Many years ago, I assembled one, under the supervision of my   
instructor. I had the components there in front of me. I don't think I could   
assemble one from your standard parts."  
  
"Were they common in your culture?"  
  
"No. I only know of two or three practioners. Of course, it's a wide galaxy."  
  
"Was your lightsaber in your ship? We collected some of the debris -- almost   
everything larger than a tea-cup. There wasn't much of it, though."  
  
Vader reined in his sudden jolt of hope. "It would look like a rod, the size of   
a double hand grip, with a glassy end."  
  
"I'll have Tom look over the debris, see if anything like that was recovered."   
She stood, walked over to the replicator. There were some barely-sweet tea   
cookies in the replicator files, if she could remember what they were called... 


	11. Star Voyager - Part 11

Star Voyager - Part 11   
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
  
Even with the ventilator on full, the odor of scorched  
duraplast clogged Tom's throat. The twisted pieces  
hadn't yielded any "lightsaber", but there was an  
energy hand-gun of an unknown design that might be  
instructive. And what had to be a data-storage device.  
  
Tom took the two prizes out of the cargo hold to an  
engineering repair carrel. He hooked up a ventilation  
hood and set it on "high" before he walked off to get  
some coffee. When he returned, the odor was  
considerably reduced.   
  
"Computer. Analyze the fumes removed. Use the  
housekeeping function to eliminate pockets of fumes  
inside the objects." A silent transporter sparkle. Tom  
left the ventilator on as he hooked up the weapon to  
the instruments.   
  
"Analyze output and power requirement." The computer  
scanned the weapon, including the various settings on  
the handle.   
  
The calm voice started listing characteristics. Tom  
snorted. "Stun and cut both, not very focused. More of  
an explosion on the kill end. No disintegrate,  
though."  
  
***************************  
  
Vader's sleep was still haunted with nightmares. They  
weren't always the same ones, but this one was the  
worse. This one always started in the Emperor's Throne  
Room on the second Death Star.   
  
The flow of these nightmares varied wildly, and their  
events, as if a dozen different realities collided. In  
the worst, he and his son killed each other, while the  
ancient Emperor cackled insanely. More often, he  
killed his son, or his son killed him. The lightsaber  
slashes were different in each scenario. Often, pieces  
flew, some flesh and bone, some mechanical, hands,  
arms, even an occasional head or half-torso.  
  
The closer to his true memories the dreams came, the  
less nerve-twisting they were. The boy had been  
trained, by some Jedi master who had successfully  
hidden from the Emperor. It had to be Kenobi or Yoda  
-- the style showed, the way the lightsaber made by an  
armsmaster could be identified. Vader's heart ached to  
see the flow, the grace of the youngster. Even knowing  
that his obligation was to break the boy, if not  
destroy him outright.  
  
When he fought through the nightmare to a more normal  
sleep, he would see the actual battle. Damage, yes --  
he and his son had scraped all too close to each  
other, and there were painful burns to prove it. But  
when his strength failed him, there were no great  
gaping holes, no missing limbs.   
  
Then the Emperor moved. In the mind of Palpatine,  
Vader sensed greed, more than anything. His master  
wanted the young one, either as apprentice, or to sap  
Luke's strength and bolster his own.  
  
But the youngster resisted him. Resisted him! Fierce  
pride filled Vader, that his son had that much  
strength. The Emperor was not so pleased. He lashed  
Luke with Force lightning bolt after lightning bolt.  
  
Palpatine ignored the dark figure huddled on the  
floor. And the boy cried out to Vader, pleading with  
him...  
  
Vader's lightsaber was across the room, where an  
impact had thrown it during the earlier lightsaber  
duel. Vader concentrated, feeling the strength leaving  
him... then feeling a strength from outside him  
helping -- outside, or deep inside. Suddenly, his  
lightsaber was in his hand, already ignited. He  
slashed toward the dark figure before him, forward and  
upwards. He struck flesh, and bone...   
  
The old man shrieked in rage and pain. He turned to  
confront this unexpected assailant, but as he twisted,  
his damaged flesh gave way and he fell -- over the  
railing and down the long shaft that led to the power  
core.   
  
Flames and wind swept up from the abyss. The very  
bones of the Death Star rumbled. Vader thumbed off the  
lightsaber, reached to put it back on his belt...  
collapsed.  
  
Then he felt a younger, stronger pair of arms around  
him. "We have to get away from here. The shield's down  
-- the rebellion is going to blow this battle  
station."  
  
Vader dragged himself to his knees, felt the flow  
again, this time knowing it was from his son. "Go,  
Luke. There is no place for me with your people."  
  
"If you don't leave, you'll die!"  
  
Vader let his son half-support him to the hangar deck.  
There were several shuttles prepped, of course -- but  
was Luke able to fly any of them? Then Vader saw an  
older vessel, one with controls similar to the  
Millennium Falcon. "Luke. Take that ship." Vader  
nodded toward a much closer ship. "I can fly this  
one." He gasped, "If I can stay conscious. If not, at  
least you'll be away. You'll be safe. Tell... Tell  
your sister. I'm not your enemy, Luke. Not now that  
_he's_ dead."  
  
"Let me help you into the ship, at least."  
  
Vader, looking over Luke's shoulder, saw troops  
approaching, ready to detain and question this  
stranger. "No. I can distract them from you -- if you  
run now. Luke! If you die, _he_ will have won. For the  
last of the Jedi will be dead."  
  
Luke swore under his breath, but stubbornly got his  
father to the ramp of an Imperial shuttle before he  
ran to the other ship. Vader watched as Luke's ship  
lifted and slipped out of the hangar, then dragged  
himself into the shuttle and onto the pilot's station  
chair. Direction was irrelevant, as long as he cleared  
this battle station before it blew.  
  
At that point, the dreams became confused and painful  
again, but not with a million mixed pasts and futures.  
Paris had told him about wormholes, and this had all  
the earmarks of the memories of one.  
  
Exiting the wormhole in his dreams slid Vader into a  
deep, dreamless sleep. Here, his body and mind could  
recover from the stress of the dreams, and even heal.  
  
*****************  
  
The chime of the door woke Vader -- he looked up,  
feeling disoriented. "Yes?" He blinked several times  
to force himself to wake up.  
  
The door opened and Paris entered. Vader saw the young  
man and rubbed his face, feeling a little embarrassed.  
  
"Overslept?" Paris smiled. "Happens to all of us, now  
and then. Tell you what -- I'll get us some breakfast  
here -- it'll save us a few minutes getting to the  
flyer."  
  
Vader hauled himself out of the bed, nodding as he  
headed to the refresher. When he came out, Paris had a  
hearty breakfast of fried eggs, sausages, and toast on  
the table, with large mugs of coffee. Next to one cup  
was a small glass of liquid. "Your morning 'tonic',"  
Tom grinned. "It showed up on the replicator platform  
when you opened the 'fresher door to come out -- the  
doc's sense of humor, I guess."  
  
Vader nodded. The medicine next to his coffee was  
better than reporting to the sickbay every morning for  
a hypospray. "Thank you for the breakfast."   
  
"And for lunch, I have a real treat for you."  
  
Vader looked up from his breakfast, carefully not  
frowning. "And what would that be?" He was still  
uncertain of some of the younger man's ideas of fun.   
  
"We're having a good Irish lunch in Fair Haven, and  
maybe make some new friends."  
  
Vader shook his head slowly, but finished his  
breakfast, medicine and all. "What does 'Irish' taste  
like?"  
  
*********  
  
Paris, for a change, was distracted. Usually the Delta  
Flyer could catch his full attention, but not today.  
Skywalker was busy in the pilot's chair, reaching  
toward one control after the other, never quite  
touching them. When Paris made no move to stop him --  
or do any real work, Skywalker asked, "Something on  
your mind?"   
  
Paris grinned, and he saw Skywalker relax. The older  
man wasn't _quite_ as hard to read as Tuvok, but...  
"Yes, but it's a distraction, not a problem." Paris  
took the second seat, next to the Admiral. "And if we  
don't get some work done here, the Captain will  
reassign me."  
  
Vader considered. "And other potential 'nursemaids'  
would not be quite so liberal, eh?"  
  
Paris gave Skywalker half of a grin. "I'm not quite  
that, but it would take anyone else assigned to  
supervise you a while to get a measure of your skills  
and lacks. That's a waste of your time and theirs."  
  
Skywalker grinned back. "And I'm an interesting new  
toy to you, right?"  
  
Paris shrugged. "Hardly that. But today, we have to  
replace the..."  
  
The two men bent over a panel on the control board.  
  
==============  
  
"We have to dress like the natives."  
  
The clothes offered were less alien than the star  
fleet uniforms he saw every day on Voyager -- the  
trousers and boots were almost homelike, even though  
the shirt was of a different (but comfortable!) cut.  
Paris handed him a small pouch. "Sullivan wants  
shillings and pence for his food and drink -- we can't  
just charge it against our replicator rations." The  
assortment of coins in the pouch were unfamiliar, but  
it looked and felt like money to the older man. Vader  
nodded.  
  
Skywalker and Paris entered the holodeck. The Admiral  
looked surprised.   
  
Before Vader was a planetscape -- open air, not a  
confined room on a ship. In front of him was a  
village, by the apparent tech, some short time before  
the introduction of spaceflight. He took a deep  
breath. There was salt in the air, and moisture -- was  
there a sea nearby?  
  
On a starship??  
  
Vader's laughter rumbled, "Most impressive."  
  
"Thank you. Welcome to Fair Haven."  
  
A small man approached Tom with a pained look on his  
face. "Aye, Tom, me boy. Could you spare a shilling?  
Me wife, God bless her, has come down with a touch of  
the fever, nothing serious, but the doctor..." Vader  
looked startled at the mention of the EMH "...has a  
brew which can ease her." Seamus's face grew doleful,  
"I've not the coin to give the man."  
  
Tom fished in his own pouch and produced a small  
silver coin, which he pressed into the "native's"  
hand. "Here you are, Seamus. And a wish of luck for  
your wife as well."  
  
"Thank you, Tommy-me-boy. She's a mighty fine woman,  
mighty fine." Seamus, his coin put carefully away,  
noticed Vader. He looked _up_. "And a good day to you,  
sir, as well. Tommy, you've brought a friend to visit  
us?"  
  
Vader realized that this new acquaintance was another  
hologram. One with more personality than the sensei,  
and not as much authority -- or irritating  
peculiarities - as the EMH. But Seamus seemed to  
expect an answer, much like the sensei waited for  
specific responses, either verbal or movement. Vader  
ducked his head like Tom had done -- the polite  
greeting, apparently. "A good day to you, Seamus."   
  
"A new shipmate of Tommy's, are ye, now?"   
  
The hologram had a great deal of fluidity in it  
responses, especially for a mere entertainment. Seamus  
held out his hand, and Vader took it, letting the  
hologram guide him -- cultures varied widely as to  
length and firmness of contact, and amount of  
movement. "And your name is?"  
  
"Skywalker. I'm Anakin Skywalker."  
  
"Welcome to Fair Haven, Anakin." Seamus ducked his  
head once more, then headed off toward the center of  
town.  
  
Vader watched him disappear into a small group of  
people. He took a deep breath, then looked around,  
including over his shoulder. As he expected, the  
entrance was gone, hidden by the scenery.  
  
"This is a recreation? Interaction with a group of  
imaginary personalities?"  
  
"It's a break from the routine of shipboard life,  
without the hazards of an alien culture. And there are  
amusements here... C'mon. We'll find some fun."  
  
Paris went on toward the town, and Vader followed.  
  
At the edge of the town was a cart filled with  
flowers. There was a girl standing next to it, in the  
costume of Fair Haven. Tom greeted her, "Good day to  
you, Maggie O'Halloran!"  
  
"And a good day to you, Tom Paris!"  
  
Vader liked Maggie's vividly red hair. The way the  
women wore their hair in this simulation was pleasing  
to his eyes, their skirts looked familiar compared to  
_Voyager_'s trouser-clad females.  
  
Vader walked up to the flower cart and inspected its  
contents. He pointed to an appealing little blossom.  
"What kind of flowers are these, Miss Maggie?" he  
inquired softly.  
  
The woman laughed engagingly and gave him a bunch of  
flowers. "These are daisies. Here, take some. Welcome  
to Fair Haven!"  
  
"Thank you." Vader looked at the bunch of daisies then  
smelled their scent. "Very nice," he said, smiling.  
  
Maggie looked over to the younger man. "So, Tommy, are  
you going to introduce your friend?"  
  
Paris grinned. Maybe the Admiral wasn't going to have  
as many problems here as Tom feared. "A new shipmate  
of mine -- name's Anakin Skywalker."  
  
Vader took Maggie's hand and bowed over it. "Pleased  
to meet you, Miss Halloran."  
  
She laughed and blushed a bit. It had many years since  
a young woman had laughed at him, at least in a  
cordial way. Vader was beginning to like this place.  
  
Paris tugged Skywalker a bit further along the road.  
"I should have warned you. Maggie is spoken for --  
she's engaged to be married to a pig farmer. And he's  
a big man, with a temper..."  
  
Skywalker had a strange gleam in his eye. "Bigger than  
I am?"  
  
Paris stalled out on, "Ah..."  
  
"And as for temper..."   
  
Paris could hear a tease in Skywalker's voice and  
relaxed. "The kendo lessons aren't quite enough for  
you, are they. You need a bit more of a fight."  
  
Vader answered calmly, with a note of humor, "I'm not  
going to start swinging at anyone. But if someone  
takes offense at my attention to the young lady, I am  
permitted to defend myself?"  
  
"Don't do anything that will wreck the holodeck."  
  
Skywalker nodded. "I was able to contain myself at the  
dojo. This may stretch my tolerance a bit more, but  
that's what Fair Haven is for, is it not? Stretching  
unused social muscles?"  
  
Paris nodded. "So it is. Carry on, Admiral."  
  
Vader's voice mocked Paris a bit when he answered.  
"Oh, I will, Mr. Paris." He walked back to the young  
girl. "I believe my shipmate wanted to show me the  
local inn but I would appreciate it if you would be   
so kind to accompany me, Miss Halloran." The young  
woman took his arm eagerly and they passed Tom walking  
up to Sullivan's.  
  
Her fingers against his arm were warm -- this  
simulation was remarkably realistic when he could  
ignore the total lack of Force-currents around the  
"people." Was this how "normal" people saw the  
universe? How limiting!  
  
Tom caught up with them, and they entered the public  
house together. Their host was a tall man for these  
people. "A thousand welcomes, Tommy-boy, to you and  
your shipmate." Vader noticed that Seamus had already  
beaten them to the pub -- no doubt spending the coin  
begged from Tom for his wife's ailment. Then again,  
the wife was as much a hologram as the husband... As  
the barkeeper. As the young woman on his arm. "And  
what will you be having, this fine afternoon?"  
  
Paris spoke up, "I promised my shipmate corned beef  
and cabbage. You'll not make me go back on my word,  
Michael?"  
  
Michael Sullivan laughed, "Not when 'twas I who told  
you it would be on the hearth for today. Maggie? The  
same for you?" The young woman nodded, almost shyly.   
  
Tom showed them to a table. Sullivan brought over  
three pints of beer, setting them on the table in  
front of them. Vader pulled the chair away from the  
table for Maggie, and then took his own seat.  
  
Tom saw Harry Kim across the room, trying urgently to  
get his attention. "Excuse me. Have to have a word  
with a friend."  
  
Kim dragged Paris's head down. In a fierce whisper, he  
said, "Are you out of your mind? Did you warn  
Skywalker about Maggie's fiance'?"  
  
Paris watched the Admiral talking to the woman, making  
her smile. Charming man, when it suited him to be. "He  
knows. I think he's hoping for a confrontation. A  
little action."  
  
The pub door slammed open. In the opening stood a man  
nearly Skywalker's size. "Speaking of which..."  
  
Vader studied the man that walked up to his table.  
Maggie looked a little frightened, a little excited.  
Being fought over by two men meant major status for  
her, apparently.  
  
The tall villager addressed him. "And who might you  
be? A stranger, or you'd know that I've spoken for  
Maggie."  
  
Vader remained calm, sipping on his beer. "Tom Paris  
told me that Maggie had a betrothed. I expected him to  
be a better sort than you." Vader thought to himself,  
"Let's see how long it takes for him to swing..."  
  
The angered fiance' lifted his hand. Vader came to his  
feet, ready. But Michael Sullivan stepped in.  
"Gentlemen. I think this can be settled with a bit of  
arm wrestling."  
  
Vader was obviously expected to know what this was, so  
he stalled. "Arm wrestling? Every..." he almost said  
"planet", but caught himself, "...port has its own  
version of that. Show me how it's done here."  
  
The barkeeper walked both men to another table,  
gesturing to Vader that he was to sit down. Sullivan  
explained the rules of the game.  
  
While Sullivan explained, the table gathered  
spectators. Even the EMH was present. Vader could feel  
the non-hologram spectators and calculated that there  
were at least a dozen real crew members in the room.   
  
The pig farmer took off his jacket and Vader realized  
that this was part of the show. Vader rose and removed  
his own jacket, putting it methodically on the back of  
the chair.   
  
Vader took a deep breath. The Force would be useless  
in this contest -- he had promised not to damage the  
holoemitters, after all. So it would be a test of his  
real physical condition. He smiled faintly.  
  
The smile on the face of the stranger enraged the pig  
farmer even more. "So, mister 'better sort'. You think  
you can take me?"  
  
Vader grinned widely. "I have been called many things  
in my day. That's a new one."  
  
The pig farmer slammed his bulk into the chair  
opposite Vader and placed his arm. "We'll see who's  
better at _this_, shipman."  
  
Vader grasped the farmer's hand and braced his elbow.  
Sullivan said, "Begin!"  
  
As he strained against the other man's arm, Vader  
could hear the spectators placing bets, for and  
against him. Paris was betting on him... As a tease,  
Vader played a little, letting the farmer move the  
joined arms toward victory. Vader saw beads of sweat  
break out on Tom's forehead.  
  
Vader whispered, but the sound went directly to  
Paris's ears. "What are the odds?"  
  
Paris couldn't identify the speaker, but answered,  
"Four to one, and steady."  
  
"Good enough."  
  
Tom turned to ask if the whisperer wanted to place a  
bet, but...  
  
Vader growled and put real strength into his push. The  
position of the arms moved. Maggie's betrothed turned  
pale, then red, and was purpling as he struggled  
against the vise-like grip but within seconds his hand  
was slammed onto the desk.   
  
Enraged by Vader's easy victory after pretending to  
nearly lose, the farmer threw a roundhouse swing at  
his opponent. Vader ducked a little, and came back up  
overturning the table onto the farmer's feet.  
  
That triggered an authentic Irish barroom brawl. Beer  
mugs flew, chairs broke, tables were dumped...  
  
In mid-brawl, for a long moment there was calm. Paris  
found himself next to Skywalker. Skywalker asked, "Is  
this the kind of 'fun' you had in mind?"  
  
Tom ducked a beer mug. "Something like this. Having a  
good fight?"  
  
Vader grinned, "Good enough. Not quite as strenuous as  
the time I mixed it up with a wookiee, but... Your pig  
harvester will do, for a start."  
  
Vader was interrupted by having to duck to escape a  
flying chair. He heard Paris protest, "Pig _farmer_!  
Pigs are animals!"  
  
=================  
  
Eventually, Sullivan separated the combatants. There  
were enough tables intact for Paris and his party --  
Maggie was hovering over the injured farmer, nursing  
him -- and the barkeeper brought over fresh pints and  
platters piled high with pale green leaves, white  
tubers, and pink meat. Then he looked around the bar  
and sighed.  
  
"Aye, but 'twill be a while before I have the old  
place back in proper order."  
  
Vader thought, and brought out the money pouch that  
Tom had given him. There was the glint of gold among  
the silver and copper. Vader took the gold coin and  
flipped it into the air, in the barkeeper's direction.  
"That should take care of the damages."   
  
Sullivan ducked his head deeply. "Why, thank you,  
m'lud." For surely only nobility could be carrying  
such coin around, and give it so freely.  
  
The next round was whiskey, not beer, and fine white  
bread to go with the corned beef, not coarse peasant  
fare.  
  
Tom looked over at Vader. "Well. _You_'ve made an  
impression."  
  
Vader shrugged. The phrase "m'lud" -- my lord -- had  
sent a strange shiver through him. Perhaps some day  
these people would discover his other identity. But he  
hoped to put that off for a while. "You gave me the  
coins, but didn't bother to tell me their relative  
value. It's on your head."  
  
"Not that it got your young lady's attention."  
  
Vader looked over at her -- where she had been. The  
pig farmer and his woman were gone. "She's a hologram.  
If one of them could interest me, I would have her  
programmed to not get distracted."  
  
Tom shook his head, "Women aren't robots... even  
holodeck ones." Then he leaned over to speak out of  
Sullivan's hearing, "Although our host had a wife  
before the captain deleted her."  
  
Skywalker lifted an eyebrow -- he must have been  
studying Tuvok's expressions. Then he took a sip of  
whiskey.  
  
===============  
  
A walk around the town cleared the whiskey fumes from  
Vader's head. Apparently, real alcohol was available  
in small quantities on the holodecks. Unless...  
"Mister Paris, what happens to holodeck food when you  
leave the holodeck?"  
  
Paris grinned. "Or whiskey? In this case, it stays  
with you. When I programmed the town, I tied in the  
replicator. So the food and drink is as real as in the  
dining hall. Otherwise... if you stay in a holodeck  
for a while, any food that's digested stays with you.  
The rest disappears."   
  
"Fascinating." A breeze lifted some leaves on the  
ground. "I smell salt water. Is there actually an  
ocean? Or do we run into a wall?"  
  
"The holodeck is fairly flexible -- I've programmed a  
bay in, but not a full ocean. Do you like sailing?"  
  
"On water? I've never tried it." Almost soundlessly,  
"There's a lot I've never tried." Skywalker turned his  
face toward the "sea."  
  
Paris looked up at the sky, at the hint of sunset on  
what was intended to be the western horizon.  
"Sullivan's putting on a light supper, and then  
there's to be some poetry and stories. I hear you're  
interested in the Sidhe?"  
  
At the word, Skywalker turned to look at him. "I...  
was curious. There were some coincidences. If the  
legends are about my people, I might be from the Alpha  
Quadrant like you are -- although it might be in the  
far-distant past."  
  
Paris laughed. "Better that than in the far future.  
We've already had too many run-ins with the Time  
Patrol."  
  
===========  
The crowd was of a different mood than in the  
afternoon. The workingmen were gone, to sleep for  
tomorrow's labors. The drinkers now were the  
shopkeepers, the young woman who taught the school,  
and more members of the Voyager crew than were there  
earlier.   
  
The light supper was newly-baked bread, fresh cheese,  
and some sausages sliced thin and served chilled with  
the rest.   
  
Vader took a seat and looked around. The bar showed no  
sign of a brawl -- either the gold paid for speedy  
repairs, or Tom had made some judicious adjustments at  
the control console.   
  
The stories and poems began. Michael Sullivan began  
with a poem from a book, then a Katie O'Clare sang a  
journey-song. Vader realized halfway through that it  
was Captain Janeway in the native dress. The murmur of  
voices was soothing, and the occasional laughter  
relaxed him as well.  
  
Then an almost familiar figure made its way to the  
front of the group. It was the Doctor from the  
starship, dressed in a robe almost as foreign to these  
people as a Star Fleet uniform would have been. The  
villagers nodded to him, murmuring, "Father," and  
making way for him.   
  
Paris leaned over and whispered toward Vader, "The doc  
has been studying Irish folk tales. This should be  
amusing."  
  
But instead of a poem, the doctor started to sing. Not  
the operatic efforts that as much exasperated his  
listeners as entertained them, but a folk song. A song  
about a war between two different groups of elves.  
  
Good elves against evil elves, with all the weapons of  
magic. For a moment, Vader was reminded of the wars of  
the Sith, that had led to the iron-bound law of two  
Sith at a time only, no more, no less.  
  
And of the millennium-long tradition that would die  
with him, unless he chose to take an apprentice... he  
was too tired to train someone from the very  
beginning. And he wasn't sure he wanted to follow the  
Dark Side any longer -- his anger was failing him. He  
had mocked the Jedi, saying that they were old men,  
with no passion in them, but now...   
  
The song ended, with massive casualties on both sides.  
Vader didn't remember enough of it to know who had  
won, but like most real wars, both sides were in bad  
shape afterwards.  
  
Janeway, when she heard the doctor sing the word  
Sidhe, shot a glance over at Skywalker. He was  
listening, with more attention than he had given to  
some of the lighter offerings, then his attention  
drifted. She wondered... _were_ the Sidhe -- the Sith  
in Scottish tales -- his people? The magical combat  
could certainly be a telling of incidents like his  
rampage in sick-bay...  
  
"Katie?" came Michael's voice. "You had one last poem  
for us?"  
  
She nodded. The doctor went back to his place among  
the villagers, and _Voyager's_ handsome captain took a  
place by the fireplace. "This is called 'The Grief of  
a Girl's Heart.'" She took a breath and started...  
  
"O Donall og, if you go across the sea, bring myself  
with you..."  
  
Vader's attention drifted. He watched the flames in  
the fireplace -- no doubt artificial, but soothing,  
giving light, heat, and even some small sound to the  
gathering.   
  
The captain's voice intruded on his thoughts. "O,  
ochone, and it's not with hunger or with wanting food,  
or drink, or sleep, that I am growing thin, and my  
life is shortened; but it is the love of a young man  
has withered me away."   
  
What? What was this?  
  
Still the female voice, "My heart is as black as the  
blackness of the sloe, or as the black coal that is on  
the smith's forge; or as the sole of a shoe left in  
white halls; it was you put that darkness over my  
life."  
  
He remembered. He remembered causing that kind of  
grief to -- a half-quirked grin, well, she was older  
than him -- to a beautiful girl. To hear it voiced in  
the idiom of these people...  
  
Katie had a glitter on her cheek, as if a tear had  
touched there for an instant. "You have taken the east  
from me; you have taken the west from me; you have  
taken what is before me and what is behind me; you  
have taken the moon, you have taken the sun from me;  
and my fear is great that you have taken God from me!"  
  
  
Janeway closed the book and sat silent. Vader pushed  
back from the table and made his way, heedless of  
those between him and the door, to fresh air and the  
darkness of night.  
  
Janeway noticed, of course, but was in no position to  
follow him. Paris excused himself and slid through  
those gathered to the pub's door. He opened it and  
closed it quietly behind him.  
  
Paris found Skywalker sitting at the edge of town,  
looking up at the stars. There was enough ambient  
light for Paris to see the glimmer of moisture on the  
older man's cheek.  
  
Paris took a seat next to Skywalker. "All this  
travelling through space -- and we still spend time  
looking at the scenery."  
  
Paris could see Skywalker's head non, slowly. "The  
stars... Is this the view from your homeworld, son?"  
  
"If the library computer's doing its job, yes. I told  
it to put in the right sky for Ireland of the early  
1900s." Paris looked around, "The planets won't be in  
the right places for Earth, right now, and of course,  
there are space stations in orbit now... The stars are  
the same." Paris laughed, "No near-by novas."  
  
Skywalker didn't answer. Tom moved to where he could  
see his face better. "What happened in there? You  
moved awfully fast. Something hit a nerve?"  
  
Vader sighed. "I'd say it was before you were born,  
but since you might be my great-grandfather, a  
thousand times removed --"  
  
Paris laughed, "B'Lanna's genes would certainly  
account for your temper. Grandson. Heh."  
  
Vader continued, "-- when I was younger than you are  
now, I fell in love. We got married against a lot of  
advice. I got into some trouble."  
  
Paris had the feeling this was like saying that Tom  
had had a "little problem" at Starfleet Academy. "You  
left her behind."  
  
"A ... friend ... of ours spirited her away, hid her  
from me, hid our children." A gentle note in  
Skywalker's voice. "I met them, once they were grown.  
I can see my wife's face in my daughter's. And my son  
has some of my abilities... but not my temper,  
fortunately."  
  
"You want to get back to them."  
  
Vader shook his head. "No. They're better off without  
me, without my shadow over them. Tom, your father is  
famous."  
  
"Well, he's an admiral, yes. Doesn't make him famous  
to the average Federation citizen, but mention Admiral  
Paris in the Fleet, and, yeah."  
  
"Would you have been happier if you hadn't known? If  
you had grown up and met him as an adult?"  
  
Paris took a long time to answer. "Happier? Maybe --  
he was always pushing me to bring up my grades, to  
accomplish more. But then, maybe a lot of what I am is  
a result of pushing back at him. If someone else had  
raised me, I wouldn't be _me_."   
  
Tom sighed, "What we are... it's everything that ever  
happened to us, plus whatever our genes handed us.  
Some of us make very bad choices." And much more  
quietly, "And some of us get a second chance. Ask  
Seven about that. Or Chakotay."  
  
Vader added, in his mind, "Or you, Tom. And maybe even  
me."  
  
=============  
  
Commander Chakotay was stretched out on his bed,  
reading a book. He'd replicated the physical object as  
a special treat for himself -- a bound book reminded  
him of home, a reminder that was a hope now, not a  
sorrow, since _Voyager_ had received messages from the  
Alpha Quadrant.  
  
The author had just introduced a stranger who had  
moved into a small town, with forebodings of  
disaster... forebodings that echoed Chakotay's own  
unease. There was a stranger on board _Voyager_,  
someone who had enchanted Tom Paris and took up an  
inordinate amount of Janeway's attention... "I don't  
like it," Chakotay said to the empty room. "I keep  
thinking that we've brought a time bomb aboard."  
  
"You should trust your feelings, young man!"  
  
Chakotay leapt to his feet, looking around... His eyes  
widened at the glowing form standing next to the  
window. Chakotay could see _through_ him. "What are  
you?" The stranger felt more of the spirit-world, than  
of any of the energy-based life-forms _Voyager_ had  
encountered. "Are you a ghost?"  
  
"'Ghost' is one of your terms for what I am. 'Spirit  
guide' is perhaps closer." The form pushed back a  
ghostly hood. Underneath, the kindly elder smiled  
amicably. "The tales of your fathers are not too alien  
to what I am."  
  
Chakotay nodded, as much a token of respect as of  
agreement. "I must have a pressing need for a guide,  
if you're appearing to me here and now, instead of  
when I'm in meditation."  
  
The ghost's face grew somber. "I am here to warn you  
about the man you referred to as a 'time bomb.' Your  
feelings about him are quite accurate. He is a grave  
danger to your ship and crew, perhaps even to your  
Federation."  
  
"This 'Anakin Skywalker' that we rescued?"   
  
The spirit's eyes widened, "He gave you that name? I  
am surprised. He has hidden his true identity for many  
years."  
  
Chakotay sat down. Unsure if he should offer the new  
arrival a seat, he gestured towards a chair opposite  
him. The ghost nodded and sat. The glow around him  
kept Chakotay from seeing whether the spirit-being was  
hovering, or was actually using the surface.  
  
"So 'Skywalker' is a false name?"   
  
"No. It is his real name, one he abandoned before he  
began his course of murder and annihilation."  
  
Chakotay studied his visitor. "And you are?"  
  
"I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. In life, I was a Jedi knight."  
Apparently Chakotay didn't react satisfactorily to the  
name, or to the term "Jedi." "You have already  
encountered Skywalker's powers. My order taught the  
proper usage of those abilities. Skywalker was a  
student of mine, until he decided I was holding him  
back. In his haste, Skywalker learned how to tap  
darker forces, and they consumed him. When he  
renounced his old allegiances, he chose to call  
himself Darth Vader."  
  
Chakotay nodded.  
  
Kenobi continued, "The man you rescued is more  
dangerous than you can possibly imagine. He is a Dark  
Lord of the Sith, a servant of evil." Kenobi went on   
and on about "Jedi Knights", "the Force", and "the  
Empire". And someone named Darth Vader who had killed  
countless thousands..  
  
"And you have returned to revenge your own death at  
his hand?"  
  
The ghost paused. Then, "I am here to warn you about  
this great evil you are permitting to walk freely  
among your crew."  
  
Chakotay was still skeptical. Yes, he had a bad  
feeling about this "Skywalker", but he wasn't inclined  
to accept unsupported information even from a "spirit  
guide." If Kenobi _was_ an authentic ghost. A grin  
quirked across Chakotay's lips as he remembered an old  
quote about "a bit of undigested gruel."  
  
"He gave us a bit of trouble when he arrived, but he  
was delirious from the pain he was in. Since then,  
he's behaved himself."  
  
Kenobi gave Chakotay a sharp look. "If he chooses to  
act, you will have no time to rescue yourselves. He  
can kill with a mere gesture of his hand."  
  
Chakotay sighed. "I will give the Captain your  
message. And we will keep an eye on Mister Skywalker."  
  
The old man shook his head in obvious distress. "I  
fear you are already lost. The more his body heals,  
the more dangerous he is. Kill him immediately, before  
he kills all of you!" The ghost vanished as quickly as  
he had appeared, leaving behind a thoughtful Chakotay.  
  
****************  
  
Chakotay finished his story while Captain Janeway  
sipped her coffee. "Let me be sure I've got this  
straight. Something that might be a ghost, calling  
himself 'Obi-Wan Kenobi', appeared in your room,  
warned you about our convalescent, and then vanished."  
  
"Yes, Captain." Well, at least she was _listening_.  
"My people have numerous tales of ghostly visitors,  
and this Kenobi has many of the right markers. And he  
seemed genuinely concerned about _Voyager's_ safety."  
  
Janeway nodded and jotted down some notes -- Chakotay  
hadn't stopped long enough to prepare a formal report  
for her on the incident.  
  
"According to this Kenobi, Skywalker -- Darth Vader --  
is a ruthless murderer. How would we go about proving  
-- or disproving! -- this accusation?"  
  
"One of the pieces salvaged from Skywalker's ship was  
a data storage unit. I asked Seven to retrieve  
whatever she could from the crytal when Tom found it,  
but I didn't put a high priority on the job. It looks  
like we might have some urgency now. I don't feel any  
better than you do about suspecting Skywalker on no  
more evidence than a possible hallucination's word."  
  
Janeway sipped her coffee, stopped mid-sip. "Kenobi  
_did_ mention one thing we can test. Have the doctor  
mention the name 'Darth Vader' to Mister Skywalker,  
while he's being monitored for pulse and  
blood-pressure. If he's hiding something, there should  
be a reaction."  
  
Chakotay shook his head. "The computer search  
Skywalker performed had that name, as well as Kenobi's  
and a good number of others. Vader could even be the  
enemy Skywalker was fleeing -- that would cause a  
stress test to spike, too. That data crystal might  
well be our only real evidence, something independent  
of Skywalker's word -- or Kenobi's."  
  
Janeway nodded. "Computer. Location of Seven of Nine."  
  
The computer's voice, "Seven of Nine is in her  
regeneration chamber."  
  
"Comm off." Janeway shook her head. "She's been having  
problems interfacing with her cubical lately. I don't  
think we need to drag her out for an incomplete  
report."  
  
Chakotay nodded. "Especially if I were only dreaming  
myself."  
  
********** 


	12. Star Voyager - Part 12

Star Voyager - Part 12  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
Vader awoke. His sleep had been deep, dreamless, but  
something in the back of his brain brought him boiling  
up to wakefulness... "If this is a visit from that  
'doctor', I am going to..."  
  
But no one was in the room. The room was as he had  
left it, dark, warm... Vader shivered. It wasn't a  
physical chill but a mental one. How had Luke  
persisted in describing it? Ah. "I have a bad feeling  
about this." In a specific tone of voice that never  
changed...  
  
The large man stared up at the ceiling. Maybe he  
_should_ talk to the EMH. This might be a new phase of  
his healing, something to be endured... or a setback.  
_That_ would certainly be an annoyance.   
  
Vader flexed his hand. Flesh and blood, bone and  
muscle, instead of servos and wires. This Federation  
medical technology was certainly superior to the  
Empire's. The doctor had been able to grow him a new  
hand from his own cells, once the EMH had found some  
that weren't radiation damaged.   
  
Vader sighed and sat up, swinging his legs over the  
side of his bed. A cup of hot chocolate would be  
welcome right now, but he would have to go to the  
dining hall to get it, and he didn't feel like company  
-- Neelix was probably asleep, but some crewman would  
be tending the replicator.  
  
Then he had a thought. The pub in Fair Haven would  
have something suitable. And the walk there would  
relax him, too.  
  
The corridors to the holodeck were nearly deserted.  
Janeway didn't have enough crew to run full functions  
all night. Vader had only a vague idea of how  
_Voyager_ had come to be so far from home -- the  
records available to him were vague at best,  
nonsensical at worst -- but the catastrophe had  
reduced her crew to a mere fraction of its full  
complement, even with the Maquis crew integrated.  
  
The holodeck with Fair Haven was in use for a private  
party. Vader turned and found the holodeck with the  
dojo open. He stepped inside. Maybe exercise would do  
him some good.  
  
Vader was in the middle of what the sensei called  
"katas" when suddenly the room rippled. The white  
paper walls darkened and roughened, and he could hear  
the growls of unseen creatures. He whirled at a  
footstep behind him.  
  
"Computer, freeze program!" It was Torres, in an  
unfamiliar suit of armor, carrying an arc of steel  
that could only be a weapon. "Well," she snarled. "Did  
you bother to check the schedule before suiting up?"  
  
"No. I had no idea there would be competition for the  
facility at this hour." Vader looked around, at the  
engineer's armor, at the ferocious figures just now  
coming into view. "You are here to fight?"  
  
Torres snorted. "I've got three hours scheduled -- and  
it isn't for a tea party. Now, if you'll just pack  
yourself up and leave, I'll get on with it."  
  
Vader could feel the anger rolling off of the woman  
like heat off a Tatooine rock in mid-afternoon. Her  
adrenalin flavored the very air. And while Vader knew  
he could defend himself, the bo-ken seemed a feeble  
instrument against that gleaming fang in Torres' hand.  
  
Torres glared at Skywalker. This... intruder had been  
the reason for half of her bad mood _before_ she had  
walked in and found him, and to find him here, now...  
Her hands shifted on the bat'leth.  
  
Heh. Maybe she could take this man down a peg or two.  
He was in armor, had some weapon experience...  
"Computer. Duplicate my bat'leth." The other weapon  
appeared in a shimmer on the holodeck floor. Torres  
nudged it with the toe of her armored boot. "Let's see  
if you can handle a real weapon, not just a fancy  
stick."  
  
Vader reached down and picked up the bat'leth. It had  
a fair heft to it, but the balance was odd. He slid  
the bo-ken into his sash and gripped the bat'leth  
firmly. "Show me some of the standard forms."  
  
That smile was not friendly. "You'll figure it out.  
Program, continue!" Her grip tightened, and her eyes  
flashed. For a moment, she reminded Vader of his  
daughter -- or her mother.  
  
The figures in the dark were all in a unfamiliar  
uniform. They were all one species. "Cardassians."  
Torres circled to keep her blade toward them.   
  
Vader took a quick swing with the bat'leth, trying to  
get its balance. Then a Cardassian charged him. Torres  
beside him screamed in rage and attacked.  
  
The weapon was clumsy in his hands, but he adapted.  
And the opponents were as solid as the pig farmer had  
been in Fair Haven. At first he just parried the  
attacks of the "Cardassians," then one of the enemy  
got past his guard. Vader administered a kick to the  
assailant's gut, and then he swung the bat'leth. It  
sliced through the middle of his opponent. To his  
surprise, the hologram opened and spilled presumably  
realistic guts onto the ground.  
  
Torres turned toward him and grinned. He grinned back  
and waded into the fray, a good deal more certain of  
his capabilities.  
  
Vader let the adrenalin take him, let himself slip  
into a battle-rage. He felt himself fall back into  
oneness with the Force. Ah. He had missed this....  
Even against a hologram opponent, the Force could  
guide him, warn him of an attack.   
  
Vader paused, suddenly aware that he had no enemies in  
his sight. He turned. Torres was standing beside him,  
blood-splattered, breathing heavily. "So," breath,  
"Skywalker." Breath. "Not bad," breath, "for a  
beginner."  
  
Vader mock-scowled at Torres. "An apprentice's fight.  
Don't you have anything more challenging?"  
  
Torres glared at Skywalker. He wanted a challenge?  
Well, she was warmed up, now. "Computer. Torres  
exercise program, most recent modification. Begin."  
  
The corpses on the floor disappeared. The walls  
rippled again -- now they stood on a boulder-strewn  
plain, under a yellow sky. Vader could hear hidden  
enemies, although his Force-perceptions couldn't pick  
up any life-forms here.   
  
A scream behind him, and the rush of feet. Vader  
whirled, and battle was engaged. at one point he  
turned to see his companion. Her face was distorted in  
an all-too-familiar rage. Others in the crew had  
mentioned Klingons to Vader -- that blood was the  
source of Torres's temper.  
  
The battle was much longer, and Vader had cuts and  
bruises by the end, with a dull ache along one side of  
his leg. That had been his own fault -- dodging a  
Cardassian, he had slammed into one of the large  
boulders.  
  
Deep breaths, while he scanned the terrain. The woman  
beside him was scarcely winded! "So, Skywalker. Better  
than kendo class?"  
  
Vader dropped his head as a single nod. "Much better."  
A deep breath. Good -- the aches were going away as  
the Force healed him. But if the doctor paid a visit  
to him, he would still have some explaining to do.  
"Your program. Can anyone access it?"  
  
"Anyone I let, yes." She waited. Vader ducked his head  
once. Torres grinned and added "Skywalker" to the  
access list.  
  
"You have some vicious tactics there, Skywalker. Are  
you sure you aren't part Klingon?"  
  
Vader smiled briefly, leaning down to remove the heads  
of the injured Cardassians. Suddenly the bodies  
sparkled, and the walls became the familiar yellow  
grid on black walls. "Not to my knowledge,  
Lieutenant."  
  
"I'm not so sure about that, chal yIt'a'...." (chal =  
sky, yIt = walk; 'a' =superlative noun suffix )  
  
He looked at his comrade-in-arms. "You look like I  
feel -- battered. If the doctor finds out about this,  
he'll lock me in sickbay for a month."  
  
Torres grinned. "That's why I brought this little gem  
along. Tom says you test out as a human, medically,  
so..." Torres showed Vader how to use the dermal  
regenerator she had brought with her. Vader sighed as  
the barely-held-back aches vanished.   
  
He flexed his hand. "It is healing, not just  
pain-killing. This is much more than our science can  
do."  
  
Torres snorted amicably. "Planning to take one with  
you when you head out?"  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
Torres turned to look at the large man. She could see  
how Tom could get attached to Skywalker -- she had  
never met anyone who behaved more like an admiral in  
her life, and with Tom, "admiral" always had the tinge  
of "father" to it: respect and rebellion in equal  
measure, in a mad whirl.  
  
"I thought that was why you were concentrating on the  
Delta Flyer. So you could take one of our shuttles and  
find your way home."  
  
"Perhaps I shall, some day. I think I should like to  
heal fully, first, though. If I have to make another  
wormhole trip, I want to arrive on the other end in  
better shape than I arrived here."  
  
"I don't blame you there."  
  
Vader could feel that her anger was gone --both her  
battle-rage and the bitter resentment against him for  
taking so much of her mate's time. After all, they  
were fellow warriors, were they not?  
  
"The exercise was more interesting as a pair, was it  
not?"  
  
Torres nodded, starting to strip off her armor. "It  
was a change. Let me know if you need another workout,  
and I'll look at my schedule."  
  
"I look forward to it." He swung up the bat'leth in a  
salute. "An interesting weapon. We shall have to  
discuss its history, some day."  
  
============  
  
Vader returned to his quarters and spent a long while  
in the 'fresher, letting the spray pummel his muscles.  
The medical machine had done a fine job on the cuts  
and bruises, but muscle strain was a different thing.   
  
The computer voice issued its wake-up call. Ah. He was  
ahead of schedule. There was an invitation, time  
stamped last night, from the Captain to dine with her,  
two days hence, featuring a pot roast. Vader told the  
computer to answer with an acceptance.  
  
Food. Vader decided to dress and make his way to the  
dining hall, waiting for Paris there. Somehow the  
prospect of strangers gaping at him wasn't nauseating  
today. Amazing what the feel of a real weapon in hand  
could do for one, even a weapon as primitive as forged  
steel.  
  
Vader let Neelix choose a selection for him -- a basic  
like French toast, and some new things to try. A large  
glass of orange juice and a large cup of coffee shared  
the tray.  
  
Naomi Wildman walked past his table... past and back  
to it. She had French toast, too. Vader nodded and she  
put her tray down. "Yesterday I found out where real  
maple syrup comes from -- the non-replicated kind.  
It's the boiled-down sap of maple trees."  
  
Vader let the child chatter. Sugar-producing trees  
seemed unlikely, but _Voyager_ seemed fairly good  
about telling their offspring when something was  
fiction -- at other meals, Vader had heard Naomi  
talking about this story or that, acted out on the  
holodecks. "And if the sap gets really thick, they  
make it into candy. Stay here!" she said, putting her  
hand on his arm for a second before sprinting over to  
Neelix.   
  
She returned with two small tan shapes wrapped in  
plastic flimsies. She opened one and broke it into  
pieces. She put one piece into Vader's hand. "Here!  
Try it!"  
  
Vader lifted his hand to his mouth. The taste was, of  
course, familiar, but the intensity of it washed over  
him in a rush. Naomi waited for a response. "Very  
nice, Miss Wildman."  
  
Naomi grinned and put the unopened candy on Vader's  
tray. "You can eat the other piece later." She broke  
up the remainder of the first piece and scattered it  
over her breakfast.  
  
The glass of white liquid on her tray stirred a  
fragment of memory. He had had replicated cow's milk  
here. This memory bit was of home... blue milk? From a  
far different animal than a cow, certainly.  
  
Vader finished his French toast and gingerly tasted  
the other samples Neelix had provided. Most of them  
were tolerable variations of breakfast, one was quite  
good, and one was ... Vader sincerely hoped that one  
of his shipmates actually _liked_ something that  
tasted like that. The alternative explanation was a  
replicator malfunction that could poison them all.  
  
==============  
  
Tom walked into the dining hall to see Skywalker in a  
conversation with Naomi Wildman. The kid was okay, but  
just had too much enthusiasm for early morning, at  
least before coffee. But it looked like the admiral  
had his breakfast well under his belt already.  
  
Paris filled a tray and got himself a cup of coffee.  
B'Lanna had been in a good mood when she had returned  
from her exercise this morning - she had even  
forgotten to snarl at him about his assistant.  
  
He sat close to the admiral, but not close enough to  
suppress the girl, who had sprinkled something grainy  
on her French toast.   
  
Skywalker finished his meal, and was toying with a  
piece of candy wrapped in plastic. He turned and saw  
Paris. Skywalker smiled at Naomi and said something,  
then rose and took his tray to the counter. The older  
man spoke to Neelix, then collected the candy from the  
tray before it could be whisked away.  
  
Skywalker stood next to Paris. "Should I wait for you  
at the hangar?"  
  
Skywalker was just _too_ cheerful this morning. "Just  
a minute." Paris gulped one last bite of food, and  
stood up. He turned his tray in, and kept the coffee  
cup. "Ready to go."  
  
Skywalker's stride was different this morning, less  
stiff, more liquid. "Been exercising?" Tom asked.  
  
"I had a nice workout this morning," Vader agreed.  
"Your wife has interesting tastes in exercise  
regimens."  
  
Paris's jaw dropped. "You ran into her on the  
holodeck?"  
  
"Yes." The older man turned to look at him. "An  
unusual woman. Quite a temper."  
  
Hm. Tom hadn't seen any scorch marks on B'Lanna, or  
great bleeding wounds on Skywalker, so the fight must  
not have been between them. "You're going to have to  
tell me what happened."  
  
===================  
  
"Admiral, I have to head for the bridge. Tell you what  
-- you can head back to your quarters, or hang out in  
the gym until lunch."   
  
Vader didn't blame him for not wanting to leave him  
here unsupervised. Back to his room was not at all  
appealing, though. "What other holodeck programs are  
running?  
  
"Classes, right now. Fair Haven's down for routine  
maintenance. Only the gym's free."  
  
Vader stretched. Even after his workout this morning,  
more limbering would do him good -- he had to crouch  
in some awkward positions while working on the Delta  
Flyer. "Sounds good. Then lunch... the doctor wants to  
poke at me this afternoon."  
  
Tom grimaced, "Lucky you. He did a good job on your  
injuries, though, didn't he."  
  
Vader flexed his re-grown hand. "Indeed he did, Mister  
Paris."  
  
=============  
  
Naomi Wildman finished her class, and asked the  
computer to find Seven of Nine for her. "Seven of Nine  
is in Engineering," came the answer.   
  
Naomi fumed. She wasn't allowed in Engineering without  
an escort, and if Seven was busy, the little girl  
didn't want to interrupt. "Where is Neelix?"  
  
"Neelix is in the hangar bay."  
  
Worse. Naomi had enough sense to keep her hands to  
herself on a ship, but in the hangar, suddenly the  
_air_ could be gone.   
  
She could go play in the holodeck, or with one of the  
other kids, but... "Where is Mister Skywalker?"  
  
"Anakin Skywalker is in holodeck four."  
  
Naomi skipped along the passageways, ducking around  
groups of adults. Holodeck four was usually a gym.  
Maybe Mister Skywalker would play a game with her.  
  
======================== 


	13. Star Voyager - Part 13

Star Voyager - Part 13  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
  
The holodeck door slid open. The room was set up as a  
gym, with ordinary exercise gear, and some bins with  
sports equipment.  
  
Skywalker had a stick in his hand, and was moving it  
around in front of a mirror, going from pose to pose.  
Naomi slid along the edge of the room. Skywalker saw  
her and stopped, bringing the stick up in what looked  
like a salute. Naomi took imaginary skirts in her  
hands, and spread them in a curtsey. Skywalker smiled.  
  
"What are you doing with the stick?" Naomi asked.  
  
"At home, I had a weapon like this, but its blade was  
energy. It would cut through almost anything."  
Skywalker slashed the air, slow-motion, in an  
elaborate design. "While I healed, my muscles forgot  
how to use the weapon. I'm reminding them."  
  
Naomi nodded. She rummaged around in the equipment bin  
and found a stick -- something for a game she didn't  
know yet. "Show me."  
  
Vader showed her how to stand, and how to hold the  
stick. "Now, the first move..."  
  
The new apprentice followed his lessons eagerly. She  
paid attention, and wasn't afraid to ask if the move  
didn't quite look right to her. And she didn't object  
if Vader had her repeat the same movement over and  
over with tiny adjustments.  
  
The door slid open again. Framed in the doorway was  
the slender form of Seven of Nine, who studied the  
tableau before her. "Naomi Wildman. You have assigned  
duties at this time."  
  
Naomi finished her swing, and brought the stick up in  
the salute Skywalker had used. "I'll be right there."  
She nodded to Skywalker, "Thank you for the lessons."  
  
"You're welcome, Miss Wildman."  
  
Vader watched Naomi put the stick away, and leave the  
gym in Seven's company. The holodeck door slid shut.   
  
======================  
  
"Naomi Wildman. You will obtain permission before  
keeping company of Anakin Skywalker."  
  
Naomi fell easily into the rhythm of Seven's speech.  
"Explanation requested."  
  
"Explanation denied."  
  
Naomi shrugged. Seven would tell her "why" when she  
could, but either she didn't know or had been told not  
to explain. Seven was waiting... "Order logged. I will  
comply."  
  
"Very well." Seven and Naomi arrived at the classroom.  
"I have scheduled an hour of recreational activities  
with you after your class. Please remain here for my  
arrival."  
  
"I will comply."   
  
Seven nodded sharply, "See that you do." The door slid  
shut between them.   
  
Naomi muttered, "But I don't see why I should."  
  
=================  
  
Seven of Nine concentrated on her task. The captain  
seemed to think this data crystal was of some  
importance, but had not specified any approach. "Just  
do your best."   
  
Talking to herself was not her usual habit, but  
keeping a verbal log of her investigation was  
acceptable. "Investigation, data crystal, source  
Skywalker, measurements...."  
  
The engineering bench had a dozen instruments for  
determining resistance, capacitance, and other  
characteristics of any artifact under investigation.  
After some experimentation, she was able to coax a  
signal from the scorched medium.  
  
There were some images of Skywalker, in a pristine  
copy of his life-support armor. The voice was  
considerably different... she adjusted the audio  
output initially, but then readjusted it when another  
human spoke. The voice in the recording was  
significantly lower than Skywalker's unmodified one.  
  
"Computer. Universal translator. Analyze all audio  
output."  
  
More adjustments, and the images grew clearer.  
  
"He's a danger to _Voyager_," said a voice behind her.  
  
  
"Explain," Seven answered. Then she turned. There was  
no one there.  
  
She felt a peculiar sensation above her eye, in her  
ocular implant. It most closely resembled the  
sensations from the time when the doctor had stored  
his program in Seven to avoid detection.  
  
"Oh. Then someone has done this before?" The voice was  
close to human in timber and phrasing, but not quite.  
There was a certain hollowness to it.   
  
"Identify yourself. And explain your intrusion."  
  
She could hear the sly smile in the voice, "I'm here  
to help you with your project."  
  
================  
  
Naomi waited. Seven was late, and hadn't called. The  
computer said she was still in Engineering. The little  
girl helped the teacher clean up after class, but was  
in the way of the next group.   
  
"Naomi, I think you should wait for Seven either in  
the dining hall or in your quarters. If she shows up  
here looking for you, I'll tell her I sent you off.  
The computer will be able to track you for her."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Naomi walked along the corridors, watching out for  
Seven. She wasn't sure whether she actually _wanted_  
to find the ex-Borg -- Seven would have some choice  
words for the little girl.   
  
She reached the dining hall without incident. Neelix  
made her favorite sandwich, but seemed rather  
distracted -- one of the Engineering staff was having  
a birthday, and had asked Neelix to cater the party.  
  
She looked around. No other kids, and most of the  
adults here were in their own conversations. The table  
offered a small variety of games, but most of them  
were for at least two players, and the others were too  
complicated for right now.  
  
===========  
  
Vader left the gym and went to his quarters, spending  
a fair amount of time in the 'fresher. The comm chimed  
-- it was the doctor, announcing a visit.  
  
"I monitored your exercises this morning with  
Lieutenant Torres," the doctor started. Vader waited  
-- the doctor didn't want to hear explanations, and  
Vader was in no mood to offer them. "I see that there  
was no permanent damage. Don't indulge yourself every  
day, but once a week should have no ill effects."  
  
Well! No objections from the hologram. Good. The  
doctor poked and prodded at him for a while, checking  
on his nearly-healed wounds and replaced limbs. "What  
is the next major procedure?"  
  
The doctor conspicuously turned off the medical  
tricorder. "Unless one of the transplants fails, there  
are none. You're well on the road to being healed,  
Mister Skywalker. Patience and mild --" with a raised  
eyebrow -- "exercise, good nutrition, and proper rest  
will suffice. I will, of course, continue to monitor  
your vital signs for some time." With a practiced  
cheerfulness, "Do you have any more questions?"  
  
"I would like to see my medical records."  
  
Normally the doctor discouraged this, since the  
medical terminology tended to be interpreted by his  
shipmates as much more deleterious than it was --  
rhinorrhea being a case in point, a simple runny nose  
that, properly labeled, sounded _horrible_. But this  
man had been deeply involved with his own treatments.  
"Certainly, Mister Skywalker. They are available on  
your console."  
  
"Thank you. Is there anything else?"  
  
The doctor made an adjustment to the daily medicine.  
"Not at this time. I will see you again in three days.  
And feel free to call me if there are any changes."  
  
The doctor didn't wait for an acknowledgement, but  
disappeared. Vader sighed -- another ordeal survived.  
But no more procedures? That was excellent news.  
  
==================  
Janeway's voice over the comm, "Seven, do you have a  
report for me, yet, on the data storage from  
Skywalker's ship?"  
  
Seven hesitated. She had a few images, but they were  
insignificant. "Not at this time, Captain. The storage  
material is unfamiliar, as is their encoding. I have  
only one image -- a suit of armor similar, perhaps  
identical, to that worn by Skywalker when he arrived  
in _Voyager_. A curiosity, nothing else."  
  
"Very well. Let me know when there is more. Janeway  
out."  
  
The voice inside her head, "You concealed the truth  
from her."  
  
"Not to any significant degree." Seven adjusted the  
contact points on the interface she had built between  
the data crystal and the ship's computer. The image on  
the viewscreen cleared.   
  
  
===============  
  
Vader's afternoon was open. More exercise was out of  
the question -- the doctor had been firm on that  
score. "Computer. What holoprograms are running"  
  
"Fair Haven is running on Holodeck two. The other  
holodecks are reserved at this time."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
His replicator wouldn't generate clothing suitable for  
Fair Haven, but he could use the console to choose an  
outfit, and pick it up at Stores. Tom's selection for  
his first visit had been adequate, but there were  
other possibilities...   
  
The ensign tending Stores was helpful. "There's a  
walking stick that goes with that suit -- blackthorn  
with a silver head." A series of images. Vader looked  
them over, found one that looked a little like a  
bantha's head. "Very good."   
  
The Stores replicator produced tailored clothing. The  
ensign touched a panel and one bulkhead became a  
mirror. The stranger looking back at him was  
startling. The doctor had done more than simple repair  
and replacement -- the scars he had lived with for  
long years were nearly gone.   
  
"Thank you, Ensign."  
  
"You're welcome, Admiral."  
  
=================  
  
Michael Sullivan nodded cordially to the tall  
newcomer. "Welcome back, m'lud. Is it a pint you'll be  
having, or a meal?"  
  
"A pint to start with, thank you." Vader took a deep  
breath. The pot on the hearth simmered merrily,  
unfamiliar spices but tempting. "And a bowl of your  
stew, as well."  
  
One of the women pulled the pint, and headed out  
around the bar to Vader. She led him to a table near  
the fire. "Here you are, m'lud." She smiled. "The rest  
will be here apace. There's fresh bread coming out of  
the oven even now."  
  
"Thank you, miss." Vader sat and turned toward the  
fire, sipping at the beer. He was finally warm enough.  
The pint helped with that, too. This was synthehol?  
  
He felt her before he heard her. The young lady with  
the tray wasn't a hologram. She smiled and put the  
tray on the table. "Your stew and some fresh bread,  
m'lud." She took the bowl and set it before him, then  
a platter with a fresh, steaming loaf of the local  
bread and a small crock of a yellow spread.  
  
"And your name is?"  
  
"Brigid Murphy, m'lud."  
  
Vader nodded slightly. "And you're one of Katie  
o'Clare's people?"  
  
The barmaid's smile widened, ever so slightly. "Aye.  
And you're the first one who's ever seen it."  
  
Vader waved at the other chair at the table. "Have a  
seat for a minute. If your duties permit."  
  
She looked over at Sullivan, who gave her a short nod,  
then slid into the chair. "And how did you know,  
m'lord?"  
  
"So you won't give yourself away next time? I have a  
... talent ... for detecting holographic 'persons'.  
You aren't, so you're one of Katie's. Tell me -- it  
amuses you to play the servant?"  
  
"Aye. I used to help me mum in an inn -- not terribly  
like this, but still... There is much joy in being  
able to say 'enough.' "  
  
"Excuse me? I don't understand." Vader broke the bread  
and offered the young woman a piece. She accepted and  
spread it with soft yellow. Vader spread a little of  
the yellow on his bread and tasted it -- not just  
butter, but sweetened. "What _is_ this?"  
  
"Honey butter, m'lord."  
  
"What is 'honey'?"  
  
Brigid paused. Ah. This was the stranger, not one of  
the Alpha Quadrant folks. "An insect -- a bee -- makes  
it for winter food, from the nectar of flowers."  
  
He had heard of bees -- a hive creature. He used the  
bread to scoop up some of the stew -- a technique he  
had seen others in the inn use. The aromas of the  
bread and honey butter and stew blended wonderfully.  
This was synthesized food? Incredible!  
  
"Many folk find joy in hard work that they do not have  
to do. Some climb mountains. Others..." she shrugged,  
smiling. "I waitress. Knowing that I don't have to."  
  
"I see." Sports would fall into the same category, he  
supposed. Hard work for fun.  
  
Brigid studied the large man. There were all the  
dining hall rumors, but she didn't credit them. Hm.  
"And would you be liking more than casual company  
tonight, m'lord?"  
  
Vader's teeth met with more than necessary force. Had  
he heard right? Quietly, he asked, "And what did you  
have in mind?"  
  
"A stroll in the moonlight, perhaps."  
  
Vader reached for another chunk of bread, at the same  
time she did. Their hands touched for an instant.  
Vader froze. Her interest flooded in on him, coursing  
through nerves he'd nearly forgotten having. Then,  
softly, "No. I'm sorry, but..."  
  
Her disappointment was real, but not bitter. "Perhaps  
another time, then." She smiled and bit into the  
bread.  
  
Vader drew his hand back and continued to eat his  
stew. Her offer was genuine, "stroll," indeed. Why had  
he been so quick to refuse?  
  
A few moments' more conversation, then Brigid excused  
herself. She brought another pint over to Vader, then  
started a conversation with newly arrived customers.  
  
Sullivan approached Skywalker's table with another  
bowl of stew. He put it down and slid into the seat  
Brigid had vacated. "We'll be having venison tomorrow,  
m'lud. My sister's son..." Sullivan hesitated,  
"...found a deer injured in the wood. He's a fine deft  
hand with the animals, but the young buck died anyway.  
So who's to look askance at the Good Lord's bounty?"  
  
Vader nodded once. Sullivan continued, "Brigid's a  
fine lass. Knows quality when she sees it."  
  
Vader's eyebrow rose, "Quality? What do you mean?"  
  
"There are those who have dressed as fine as you,  
m'lud, but she's spoken no more to them than to any  
other customer. But when you arrived this fine  
afternoon, she asked who you were."  
  
"And you told her," Vader growled softly, "that I was  
gentry."  
  
"No, that I did not. I told her about your civility,  
yes, and about the contest. M'lud, you have the  
manners of the best of the gentry, not the worst. You  
are no commoner -- nor can you be mistaken for one."  
  
Vader kept from laughing. No one here knew of his base  
birth, any more than they knew of his later rank.  
"Perhaps. But my lands are far from here, and I fear I  
will never return. Venison, you say?"  
  
Sullivan nodded, describing the feast he had planned.  
Vader listened, having only a vague idea of what  
"venison" was. A deer was some game animal, obviously,  
and venison its meat. And apparently "illegally"  
obtained. The innkeeper was at war with himself -- the  
opportunity to serve a fine meal to someone who would  
object to its origin. Vader silently congratulated  
Paris on the depths of his characterizations.  
  
Then he remembered. "I have a dinner engagement  
tomorrow evening. Perhaps another day, my good host."  
  
====================  
  
Vader stopped at the dining hall for a large mug of  
cocoa to take back to his quarters. Once there, he  
settled into his station chair. "Computer, identify  
Brigid Murphy." He sipped at the hot, sweet liquid.  
  
"Define context."  
  
"Fair Haven."  
  
"Brigid Murphy is a waitress at Sullivan's in the Fair  
Haven holodeck program." An image comes up -- not  
quite the Brigid Vader remembered. The computer listed  
Brigid's family, residence, and even her tastes in  
food and entertainment. The image began to talk. It  
was the wrong voice!  
  
Vader sat up, set the mug down. "Computer. Stop. Was  
the Brigid Murphy simulation in use in the holodeck  
today?"  
  
"Negative. The Brigid Murphy simulation has been  
offline for 35 days."  
  
Vader sank back into his chair. He smiled at the  
computer console. "Computer. Give me a list of all  
crew accessing Fair Haven today."  
  
"Access denied."  
  
Vader scowled. He should be used to that, but it still  
grated when he ran afoul of it. "Can I get pictures of  
the female crew members on Voyager?"  
  
The only pictures he was permitted were shots of  
gatherings like awards and parties. And none of the  
women was clearly Brigid -- the woman pretending to be  
Brigid. Vader studied the display, frustrated.  
  
Brigid. She had suggested they take a stroll. Heh. She  
had in mind considerably more than that. Why had he  
refused? His wife was years dead. He had no reason not  
to... hm. The doctor's repairs were, on the whole, far  
beyond Vader's expectations, but to have _that_ system  
fail at the wrong moment... an excellent question. One  
that could be answered easily enough, though.  
  
Vader smiled. The doctor's repair job was, as hoped,  
quite good -- everything functioned as well as it had  
in his youth. So. Brigid might not be so disappointed,  
once he met her again. If he were able to track her  
down.  
  
He found himself yawning -- not surprising. He had  
been awake for many hours, from the combat at Torres'  
side this morning to this final battle against his own  
infirmities. And all the battles won.  
  
A quick shower and then to bed.  
  
All battles but one, he remembered. Why was Seven so  
opposed to his contact with Naomi?  
  
His last waking thought was of bees buzzing. The image  
faded into a dream of Seven, an entire hive of Sevens.  
  
============================ 


	14. Star Voyager - Part 14

Star Voyager - Part 14  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
  
Music. Vader had asked the computer to vary its wake-up call and this   
time it was some sort of orchestral music, fairly stirring. Vader   
smiled. Something soothing would hardly do for a wake-up, would it.  
  
Stretches, then the 'fresher for a pounding with a newly discovered   
"needle spray" setting. The last time he felt something like that, it had   
been sand, and had tried to remove his skin. But as water, it was   
invigorating.  
  
Paris joined him halfway to the dining room. "We're doing some   
maintenance on a shuttle today. Then I've got helm all afternoon."  
  
Vader nodded. "What's the difference between the flyer and a shuttle?"  
  
Paris grinned. "Me."  
  
-----------------  
  
Vader looked around the dining hall. He didn't expect to see Brigid   
there -- he was sure he'd have felt her presence before the door slid   
open. But there was a scattering of familiar faces, folks who had been in   
Fair Haven at the poetry reading. Some of them nodded amicably at him,   
but turned back to their own conversations.  
  
Paris brought a pair of plates over to the table. "These are good --   
but don't tell Neelix I said so."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because it'll encourage him to do more experimentation. _That_ could   
cause a mutiny."  
  
Vader shook his head. Such convoluted logic. Why didn't they just order   
the cook not to experiment? But Paris was right. The food _was_ good.  
  
------------  
  
The shuttles were definitely of an older design. "The flyer has a lot   
of innovations we picked up here in the Delta Quadrant. Including some   
Borg ideas."  
  
Vader remembered a discussion of "conduits" -- something he had filed   
for later consideration, since he only barely had a handle on basic Star   
Fleet warp drive technologies.  
  
"How much different is the piloting?"  
  
The work was intriguing, and Vader was actually surprised when Paris   
called it to a halt. "Lunch. Fair Haven's open today -- want to make it   
there? Or are you tired of it?"  
  
A low rumble of laughter from the older man. "Fair Haven will suit very   
well. I will meet you in front of the holodeck in fifteen minutes."  
  
Tom wiped his hands on a none-too-clean rag and nodded. "I guess   
cleaning up would be a good idea."  
  
-------------  
  
Vader studied himself in the mirror in his 'fresher. Females had been   
an infrequent part of his life before he had reached _Voyager_ -- now   
they were not only present, but sought his company! Although his exercise   
session with Torres couldn't really be included in that category.  
  
And Seven of Nine's dislike of him balanced his new-found truce with   
Torres. Seven's attitude wouldn't be a problem by itself, but she seemed   
determined to keep his youngest acquaintance from him.  
  
---------------  
  
The entrance to Fair Haven slid open. The two men strode in, trying to   
get clear of the door as quickly as possible, to restore the ambience.   
The salt in the air was especially obvious today. Paris muttered, "I   
need to check the settings on that."  
  
Vader suppressed a chuckle. The youngster was something of an artist,   
creating this place. "Maybe there's a storm brewing?"  
  
Tom laughed. "Maybe. I've been feeling uneasy lately -- maybe the   
holodeck is picking up indications of rough space ahead."  
  
"Rough space" was an expression Tom used for a number of nebulosities,   
subspace ripples, and other irregularities that kept _Voyager_'s   
journey "interesting."  
  
"Do you have to fix it before lunch?"  
  
---------------  
  
Lunch was the venison Sullivan had mentioned the day before. Vader   
tasted the dishes gingerly. The meat actually had taste to it, unlike some   
of the replicator offerings. It reminded him faintly of roast bantha.  
  
Sullivan watched as the large, well-dressed man picked daintily at the   
food before giving in to his appetite. He brought a freshly drawn mug   
of brew and set it on the table. "And are things to your liking, m'lud?"  
  
Vader nodded, taking a gulp of beer to clear his mouth before   
answering. "Yes. Very well done. The meals..." he corrected in mid-sentence,   
"... on shipboard are nothing in comparison."  
  
Sullivan grinned. "Thank you. m'lud."  
  
Other customers drew Sullivan away. Vader satisfied his appetite and   
sat nibbling on the remainder, sipping his beer. He looked around. The   
others in the inn were Fair Haven residents rather than _Voyager_ crew.   
Even Paris had disappeared.   
  
"Sullivan."  
  
The innkeeper appeared at Vader's elbow at once. "Yes, m'lud?"  
  
"Brigid Murphy. Where is she?"  
  
Sullivan hesitated. "It's her day off, m'lud. I can send one of the   
lads to her house to see if she's there, if you wish."  
  
Vader waved his hand. "No need. She lives in the town?"  
  
"Over the hill, out near the river, m'lud. I can have one of the   
lads..."  
  
Vader shrugged. "Perhaps later." He pushed the meal away and sat   
watching the fire, sipping at the mug of beer.  
  
Damn. He was sure she'd be here. Perhaps ship duties interfered.   
Without her real name, there was no way to query the computer.  
  
The venison sat well in his stomach, as did the bread. He had been too   
young when he left Tatooine to know much of their beer, but the other   
tastes were certainly similar.  
  
One of the barmaids cleared Vader's table of the venison, depositing a   
bowl of some kind of red berries with thick cream spooned over them.   
Vader studied the bowl through half-closed eyes. More of _Voyager_'s   
taste for sweets. He could let it wait.  
  
Familiar thought patterns intruded. Paris, then Kim. No Brigid. He was   
_not_ going to ask Paris's help to track her down.   
  
Ah. There. On the edge of town, as if she had just entered the   
holoprogram. And he heard the inn's door open.  
  
-----------  
  
Brigid saw him, sitting by the fire, leaning back in his chair, his   
feet stretched out before him. He looked like a big cat, one of the   
leonids, maybe, or a giant panther -- relaxed but poised to react at the   
least provocation. Definitely a wild animal, not one of the domesticated   
Federation menfolk. Dangerous.  
  
She smiled.   
  
Sullivan nodded at her when he saw her walk in. From Michael's raised   
eyebrow and slight nod toward Skywalker, the gentleman had asked about   
her. Good. She _thought_ he had been interested -- wasn't sure why he   
had shied off before.  
  
She slid into the empty chair at Skywalker's table. "A fine afternoon,   
my lord."  
  
"Indeed it is."  
  
His eyes opened. A fine, clear blue, and incredibly deep. She could   
gaze into those eyes for hours -- if she didn't have other intentions.   
  
"I see you've had Michael's venison pie. He has a fine hand with it,   
does he not?"  
  
"Yes, he does."  
  
His eyes lingered on hers, then dropped to take in her figure and then   
back up to her face. His smile was gentle, not eager. Brigid wasn't   
sure whether that should worry her or not. The younger Star Fleet men were   
a little too fast sometimes -- or slow, either from nerves or because   
they were dense. The few older ones were spoken for, or too dedicated to   
their work. Skywalker... fit neither category.   
  
She had heard Tom call him "admiral," but he certainly wasn't like any   
admiral _she_ had ever encountered. Star Fleet admirals were   
accountable to too many layers above them. Skywalker gave the impression of being   
under no one's command.  
  
Her eyes lit on the bowl of berries and cream. "Not in the mood for   
dessert, m'lord?"  
  
His voice was a low rumble that gently rasped along her nerves like a   
cat's tongue. "You're welcome to it. The venison pie ... I'm afraid I   
filled up the corners with that first."  
  
Brigid took one of the berries and dunked it into the heavy cream, then   
put it on her tongue. The berry were from the airponics bay, not   
replicated. She chewed it slowly, tasting the sweet and slight tartness, the   
textures of the fibrous berry and the smooth cream.  
  
Vader watched the woman. Padmé had never particularly enjoyed meals --   
she was too subject to being called away to her duties during them. A   
quiet meal was a rarity, much less a chance to appreciate the sensual   
qualities of the food. This one... He could feel her enjoying the   
berries, the cream.  
  
She smiled at him. "I think it's too fine a day to be spending it   
inside, m'lord. And if I stay here, I'll be having another bowl of berries   
and cream, and then where would my figure be?"  
  
As expected, her words provoked another top-to-bottom inspection. She   
winked, "I think a stroll would help settle the meal. Do you agree,   
m'lord?"  
  
"Indeed." He sat forward in his chair, rose to his feet. "I take it you   
have some favorite paths in mind? Something scenic?"  
  
Her gentle laughter was answer enough for him.  
  
---------------  
  
Tom Paris saw Skywalker leaving Sullivan's with a young woman. She   
looked familiar -- ah. The modified Brigid O'Donnell. McGinty? Something   
Fair Havenish.  
  
At least this one didn't have a pig herder for a betrothed. Tom watched   
them walking slowly toward the edge of town, toward the river and the   
far hills rather than the shore like he would have expected. He started   
toward them, then pulled himself up short. It had been quite a while   
since the rampage in sickbay. Tom didn't see any reason to give Skywalker   
a genuine excuse to lose his temper.  
  
So Skywalker had overcome his aversion to holograms? Interesting.  
  
--------------  
  
"I looked for you in the ship's records," Vader said, smiling slightly.  
  
"And you found 'twas no Brigid Murphy amongst Katie O'Clare's folk?"   
Her laugh was merry. Her face colored a little -- he had bothered to look   
for her, outside Fair Haven.   
  
"Correct. Surely, you do not think you can conceal yourself from the   
rest of the crew?"  
  
She turned and faced him, her hands on her hips, wisps of her hair   
loose around her face. "M'lord, the others cannot tell a phantom of light   
from flesh and blood. I have taken steps to change my looks and my   
voice. Tom may suspect. The others do not."  
  
A long silence. "And you do not choose to tell them. If one of your   
crewmates had courted you here and won you..."  
  
She interrupted gently, "I would tell him, before it went so far.   
Katie's crew is a team -- I would not bushwhack someone I cared for."  
  
It took Vader a moment to work over all the connotations of   
"bushwhack." When he had, he had sudden visions of being hijacked and held   
prisoner, to be kept for... what?  
  
"Did it happen?"  
  
"Nearly, once. But before we did more than stroll on the beach, he was   
lost." Her eyes searched the horizon, looking perhaps for a man who   
would never return to her arms. "And I have no taste for phantoms in my   
bed."  
  
Vader snorted, but to himself, not aloud. Could _she_ tell? "And you   
think I am real?"  
  
She laughed, looking him up and down. "Tommy boy doesn't have that good   
an imagination. Or the nerve to put someone like you in his village --   
you're near enough to his father that he'd shy away from the idea."  
  
"I see."  
  
----------------  
  
The stroll was conversation and an occasional touch. He held her arm as   
they climbed a steep path in the woods, just before the trail opened to   
a vista of rolling hills with open fields and small cottages.  
  
She was breathing heavily at the top of the climb, and her face was   
flushed. "A shame it is, that so paltry a climb should tax me so much."  
  
"We can sit here and rest, if you like. It's a splendid view."  
  
She smiled. The grass was green and lush, and gave under their feet.   
  
-----------------  
  
Even as an illusion, the open spaces soaked into the back of Vader's   
mind, relaxing him. "Have you been to many worlds?"  
  
The slight frown on her face -- he played over their conversation and   
realized how she had tried to keep in character. "You've travelled to   
other lands," he amended. "With Katie O'Clare."  
  
"Aye. But none so beautiful as home."  
  
He looked around. This could be Naboo, or Alderaan-that-was. Not his   
home, but very nice. "Fair Haven is only another stop on your journey."   
She nodded solemnly. "I judge from your words that you don't have a   
young man waiting for you."  
  
"There was none I cared for so much when I left. And even if I had...   
Katie was spoken-for before we came here. But the journey will not end   
while we may still find partners and have families. We must do that   
along the way. Those we left behind know that."  
  
Partners. Families. Vader suddenly wondered exactly how close to what   
edge he might be. It had never occurred to him to look up ship's   
regulations on mating. If he did more than "stroll" with Brigid, might he find   
himself forced into something more permanent?  
  
And would it be so bad if he were?  
  
Yes. Until he was sure that he would be staying among these people, he   
didn't want to leave any hostages to fortune. No more sons to be raised   
to hate him...  
  
Another snort. If he were healed enough to be fertile in the first   
place, even if the physical responses were restored.   
  
Would it really be so bad..?  
  
They sat. His arm was around her shoulders as she pointed out whose   
farms were in the valley beneath them. The animals below -- sheep? --   
looked like tethered clouds wandering across a green sky.  
  
The breeze had a bit of chill to it, and Brigid snuggled in closer. His   
hand stroked her hair. He leaned his head against hers, inhaling the   
scent of her hair. "Brigid..."  
  
Her whispered, "Yes?" was a mere breeze against his cheek.  
  
"Is one of those cottages empty? Somewhere where no one will be   
wandering by on his own stroll?"  
  
"I think so."   
  
He helped her to her feet. The motion swung her into his arms. A long,   
gentle embrace, moving into a soft kiss. She tasted of spice, and   
sweet, and flowers...  
  
Something buzzed. She stiffened. She turned her head, spoke away from   
him. "What is it?"  
  
Nothing was audible to him, but she was obviously listening. "I see.   
Tell him when he gets out, I'll break his _other_ leg for him."  
  
She sighed. "M'lord, I have duties. I regret -- _deeply regret_ -- that   
I must part company with you at this time. I beg your forgiveness."  
  
And what would she do if he forbade her to go? No, let her go. Right   
now, she regretted leaving him. Let it remain so. "Go, then. If you do   
not find me here when you return, ask Tom of me. He generally knows my   
whereabouts."  
  
She nodded, dropped a quick curtsey... then gave him a quick peck on   
his cheek. "Anything more, and I might forget my duties. Some other time,   
m'lord."  
  
---------  
  
She was out of sight of him in the woods before she called for an exit   
to get out of the holodeck. Damn Josephus for breaking his leg into   
enough pieces that the doctor wanted to keep an eye on him for a full day   
instead of simply patching him up and sending him back to duty.   
  
She got back to her quarters and stripped off the Fair Haven clothing.   
The full, red-tressed wig was a bit harder to disengage -- some of the   
medical micro-sutures that held it on were time-locked. She had a   
gadget in one of the drawers to reprogram them... here.  
  
She dropped the red-haired wig onto its stand on her nighttable. She   
shook her head and her own midnight black hair fell loose.  
  
A quick trip to the sonic shower scoured the dermal colorant off,   
leaving her skin duskier than the Celtic Brigid's. The hazel eyes were the   
same, at least. And the shape of the face. But the short, almost boyish   
cut of her hair, her usual voice range half an octave above Brigid's,   
and the darker skin, with the uniform, should be disguise enough.  
  
It had been so far.  
  
Lieutenant Louise Fortunati reported to the duty officer.  
  
------  
  
Vader wandered the woods for a while. A piece of twig caught his eye --   
no, it was the fragment of a horn or antler, not wood. He rubbed it   
clean of leaf-mold, then leaned down to rinse it in a stream. He used to   
be a fair hand at carving. With replicators, these people could have any   
items that were in the databanks, but something hand-crafted would mean   
more than fine jewels as a gift.  
  
He smiled.   
  
----------  
  
He had roughed the horn into a square when there was a faint buzz in   
his ear. "Schedule reminder. Dinner with Captain Janeway in one hour."  
  
"Acknowledged." He stood and brushed tiny shreds of horn from his lap.   
"Computer! Exit!"  
  
The scene before him rippled and froze. Closer than he imagined, a door   
appeared, opening into one of _Voyager_'s corridors.  
  
Barely three meters along the corridor, he felt his palm tingle. He   
looked down. His carving project was dissolving in a sparkle that looked   
like the replicator's recycler. He grabbed harder, but it was gone.  
  
Vader sighed. Tom had warned him about holodeck matter. The food in   
Fair Haven was tied to the food replicators and was real. Other items   
obviously were not. And outside the holoemitter range, they disappeared,   
like Sidhe gold touched by iron.  
  
------------------  
  
Seven reported to the captain in person rather than trusting her news   
to the comm. "Admiral Skywalker is not who he represents himself to be."  
  
Janeway was annoyed. The pot roast was balking her again. She thought   
she had it down, then the power would fluctuate, and she'd have raw meat   
or carbonized. A replicator meal was much more dependable, but... She   
hissed as she scorched her finger.  
  
"We knew he was hiding something. What have you found?"  
  
Seven slipped the report into the commconsole and brought up a   
recording. Janeway stared, pot roast forgotten.  
  
------------  
  
"Chakotay, review this. Then report to my private dining room. You're   
ostensibly another guest. I've talked to Tuvok..."  
  
--------  
  
"Computer, what would be a suitable guest-gift for a dinner?"  
  
The computer stubbornly refused to understand him. Vader finally asked,   
"What gift would be appropriate for a woman?"  
  
The list was not unexpected -- flowers, wine, a book of poems...   
"Computer. Give me some samples of poems." Then he added, thinking of Brigid,   
"Love poems."  
  
Vader wondered what the "universal translator" was actually doing to   
the original writing. The words flowed, precise in some samples, vague in   
others. Of course, _Voyager_ had literature from hundreds of cultures.   
  
"Five minute reminder. Dinner with Captain Janeway."  
  
----------  
  
  
  
  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Music. Vader had asked the computer to vary its wake-up call and this   
time it was some sort of orchestral music, fairly stirring. Vader   
smiled. Something soothing would hardly do for a wake-up, would it.  
  
Stretches, then the 'fresher for a pounding with a newly discovered   
"needle spray" setting. The last time he felt something like that, it had   
been sand, and had tried to remove his skin. But as water, it was   
invigorating.  
  
Paris joined him halfway to the dining room. "We're doing some   
maintenance on a shuttle today. Then I've got helm all afternoon."  
  
Vader nodded. "What's the difference between the flyer and a shuttle?"  
  
Paris grinned. "Me."  
  
-----------------  
  
Vader looked around the dining hall. He didn't expect to see Brigid   
there -- he was sure he'd have felt her presence before the door slid   
open. But there was a scattering of familiar faces, folks who had been in   
Fair Haven at the poetry reading. Some of them nodded amicably at him,   
but turned back to their own conversations.  
  
Paris brought a pair of plates over to the table. "These are good --   
but don't tell Neelix I said so."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because it'll encourage him to do more experimentation. _That_ could   
cause a mutiny."  
  
Vader shook his head. Such convoluted logic. Why didn't they just order   
the cook not to experiment? But Paris was right. The food _was_ good.  
  
------------  
  
The shuttles were definitely of an older design. "The flyer has a lot   
of innovations we picked up here in the Delta Quadrant. Including some   
Borg ideas."  
  
Vader remembered a discussion of "conduits" -- something he had filed   
for later consideration, since he only barely had a handle on basic Star   
Fleet warp drive technologies.  
  
"How much different is the piloting?"  
  
The work was intriguing, and Vader was actually surprised when Paris   
called it to a halt. "Lunch. Fair Haven's open today -- want to make it   
there? Or are you tired of it?"  
  
A low rumble of laughter from the older man. "Fair Haven will suit very   
well. I will meet you in front of the holodeck in fifteen minutes."  
  
Tom wiped his hands on a none-too-clean rag and nodded. "I guess   
cleaning up would be a good idea."  
  
-------------  
  
Vader studied himself in the mirror in his 'fresher. Females had been   
an infrequent part of his life before he had reached _Voyager_ -- now   
they were not only present, but sought his company! Although his exercise   
session with Torres couldn't really be included in that category.  
  
And Seven of Nine's dislike of him balanced his new-found truce with   
Torres. Seven's attitude wouldn't be a problem by itself, but she seemed   
determined to keep his youngest acquaintance from him.  
  
---------------  
  
The entrance to Fair Haven slid open. The two men strode in, trying to   
get clear of the door as quickly as possible, to restore the ambience.   
The salt in the air was especially obvious today. Paris muttered, "I   
need to check the settings on that."  
  
Vader suppressed a chuckle. The youngster was something of an artist,   
creating this place. "Maybe there's a storm brewing?"  
  
Tom laughed. "Maybe. I've been feeling uneasy lately -- maybe the   
holodeck is picking up indications of rough space ahead."  
  
"Rough space" was an expression Tom used for a number of nebulosities,   
subspace ripples, and other irregularities that kept _Voyager_'s   
journey "interesting."  
  
"Do you have to fix it before lunch?"  
  
---------------  
  
Lunch was the venison Sullivan had mentioned the day before. Vader   
tasted the dishes gingerly. The meat actually had taste to it, unlike some   
of the replicator offerings. It reminded him faintly of roast bantha.  
  
Sullivan watched as the large, well-dressed man picked daintily at the   
food before giving in to his appetite. He brought a freshly drawn mug   
of brew and set it on the table. "And are things to your liking, m'lud?"  
  
Vader nodded, taking a gulp of beer to clear his mouth before   
answering. "Yes. Very well done. The meals..." he corrected in mid-sentence,   
"... on shipboard are nothing in comparison."  
  
Sullivan grinned. "Thank you. m'lud."  
  
Other customers drew Sullivan away. Vader satisfied his appetite and   
sat nibbling on the remainder, sipping his beer. He looked around. The   
others in the inn were Fair Haven residents rather than _Voyager_ crew.   
Even Paris had disappeared.   
  
"Sullivan."  
  
The innkeeper appeared at Vader's elbow at once. "Yes, m'lud?"  
  
"Brigid Murphy. Where is she?"  
  
Sullivan hesitated. "It's her day off, m'lud. I can send one of the   
lads to her house to see if she's there, if you wish."  
  
Vader waved his hand. "No need. She lives in the town?"  
  
"Over the hill, out near the river, m'lud. I can have one of the   
lads..."  
  
Vader shrugged. "Perhaps later." He pushed the meal away and sat   
watching the fire, sipping at the mug of beer.  
  
Damn. He was sure she'd be here. Perhaps ship duties interfered.   
Without her real name, there was no way to query the computer.  
  
The venison sat well in his stomach, as did the bread. He had been too   
young when he left Tatooine to know much of their beer, but the other   
tastes were certainly similar.  
  
One of the barmaids cleared Vader's table of the venison, depositing a   
bowl of some kind of red berries with thick cream spooned over them.   
Vader studied the bowl through half-closed eyes. More of _Voyager_'s   
taste for sweets. He could let it wait.  
  
Familiar thought patterns intruded. Paris, then Kim. No Brigid. He was   
_not_ going to ask Paris's help to track her down.   
  
Ah. There. On the edge of town, as if she had just entered the   
holoprogram. And he heard the inn's door open.  
  
-----------  
  
Brigid saw him, sitting by the fire, leaning back in his chair, his   
feet stretched out before him. He looked like a big cat, one of the   
leonids, maybe, or a giant panther -- relaxed but poised to react at the   
least provocation. Definitely a wild animal, not one of the domesticated   
Federation menfolk. Dangerous.  
  
She smiled.   
  
Sullivan nodded at her when he saw her walk in. From Michael's raised   
eyebrow and slight nod toward Skywalker, the gentleman had asked about   
her. Good. She _thought_ he had been interested -- wasn't sure why he   
had shied off before.  
  
She slid into the empty chair at Skywalker's table. "A fine afternoon,   
my lord."  
  
"Indeed it is."  
  
His eyes opened. A fine, clear blue, and incredibly deep. She could   
gaze into those eyes for hours -- if she didn't have other intentions.   
  
"I see you've had Michael's venison pie. He has a fine hand with it,   
does he not?"  
  
"Yes, he does."  
  
His eyes lingered on hers, then dropped to take in her figure and then   
back up to her face. His smile was gentle, not eager. Brigid wasn't   
sure whether that should worry her or not. The younger Star Fleet men   
were a little too fast sometimes -- or slow, either from nerves or   
because they were dense. The few older ones were spoken for, or too   
dedicated to their work. Skywalker... fit neither category.   
  
She had heard Tom call him "admiral," but he certainly wasn't like   
any admiral _she_ had ever encountered. Star Fleet admirals were   
accountable to too many layers above them. Skywalker gave the   
impression of being under no one's command.  
  
Her eyes lit on the bowl of berries and cream. "Not in the mood for   
dessert, m'lord?"  
  
His voice was a low rumble that gently rasped along her nerves like   
a cat's tongue. "You're welcome to it. The venison pie ... I'm afraid   
I filled up the corners with that first."  
  
Brigid took one of the berries and dunked it into the heavy cream,   
then put it on her tongue. The berry were from the airponics bay,   
not replicated. She chewed it slowly, tasting the sweet and slight   
tartness, the textures of the fibrous berry and the smooth cream.  
  
Vader watched the woman. Padmé had never particularly enjoyed meals --   
she was too subject to being called away to her duties during them.   
A quiet meal was a rarity, much less a chance to appreciate the   
sensual qualities of the food. This one... He could feel her   
enjoying the berries, the cream.  
  
She smiled at him. "I think it's too fine a day to be spending it   
inside, m'lord. And if I stay here, I'll be having another bowl of   
berries and cream, and then where would my figure be?"  
  
As expected, her words provoked another top-to-bottom inspection. She   
winked, "I think a stroll would help settle the meal. Do you agree,   
m'lord?"  
  
"Indeed." He sat forward in his chair, rose to his feet. "I take it   
you have some favorite paths in mind? Something scenic?"  
  
Her gentle laughter was answer enough for him.  
  
---------------  
  
Tom Paris saw Skywalker leaving Sullivan's with a young woman. She   
looked familiar -- ah. The modified Brigid O'Donnell. McGinty?   
Something Fair Havenish.  
  
At least this one didn't have a pig herder for a betrothed. Tom   
watched them walking slowly toward the edge of town, toward the   
river and the far hills rather than the shore like he would have   
expected. He started toward them, then pulled himself up short.   
It had been quite a while since the rampage in sickbay. Tom didn't   
see any reason to give Skywalker a genuine excuse to lose his temper.  
  
So Skywalker had overcome his aversion to holograms? Interesting.  
  
--------------  
  
"I looked for you in the ship's records," Vader said, smiling slightly.  
  
"And you found 'twas no Brigid Murphy amongst Katie O'Clare's folk?"   
Her laugh was merry. Her face colored a little -- he had bothered to   
look for her, outside Fair Haven.   
  
"Correct. Surely, you do not think you can conceal yourself from the   
rest of the crew?"  
  
She turned and faced him, her hands on her hips, wisps of her hair   
loose around her face. "M'lord, the others cannot tell a phantom of   
light from flesh and blood. I have taken steps to change my looks   
and my voice. Tom may suspect. The others do not."  
  
A long silence. "And you do not choose to tell them. If one of your   
crewmates had courted you here and won you..."  
  
She interrupted gently, "I would tell him, before it went so far.   
Katie's crew is a team -- I would not bushwhack someone I cared for."  
  
It took Vader a moment to work over all the connotations of   
"bushwhack."   
When he had, he had sudden visions of being hijacked and held prisoner,   
to be kept for... what?  
  
"Did it happen?"  
  
"Nearly, once. But before we did more than stroll on the beach, he   
was lost." Her eyes searched the horizon, looking perhaps for a man   
who would never return to her arms. "And I have no taste for phantoms   
in my bed."  
  
Vader snorted, but to himself, not aloud. Could _she_ tell? "And you   
think I am real?"  
  
She laughed, looking him up and down. "Tommy boy doesn't have that   
good an imagination. Or the nerve to put someone like you in his   
village -- you're near enough to his father that he'd shy away from   
the idea."  
  
"I see."  
  
----------------  
  
The stroll was conversation and an occasional touch. He held her arm   
as they climbed a steep path in the woods, just before the trail opened   
to a vista of rolling hills with open fields and small cottages.  
  
She was breathing heavily at the top of the climb, and her face was   
flushed. "A shame it is, that so paltry a climb should tax me so much."  
  
"We can sit here and rest, if you like. It's a splendid view."  
  
She smiled. The grass was green and lush, and gave under their feet.   
  
-----------------  
  
Even as an illusion, the open spaces soaked into the back of Vader's   
mind, relaxing him. "Have you been to many worlds?"  
  
The slight frown on her face -- he played over their conversation and   
realized how she had tried to keep in character. "You've travelled to   
other lands," he amended. "With Katie O'Clare."  
  
"Aye. But none so beautiful as home."  
  
He looked around. This could be Naboo, or Alderaan-that-was. Not his   
home, but very nice. "Fair Haven is only another stop on your journey."   
She nodded solemnly. "I judge from your words that you don't have a   
young man waiting for you."  
  
"There was none I cared for so much when I left. And even if I had...   
Katie was spoken-for before we came here. But the journey will not end   
while we may still find partners and have families. We must do that   
along the way. Those we left behind know that."  
  
Partners. Families. Vader suddenly wondered exactly how close to what   
edge he might be. It had never occurred to him to look up ship's   
regulations on mating. If he did more than "stroll" with Brigid, might   
he find himself forced into something more permanent?  
  
And would it be so bad if he were?  
  
Yes. Until he was sure that he would be staying among these people, he   
didn't want to leave any hostages to fortune. No more sons to be raised   
to hate him...  
  
Another snort. If he were healed enough to be fertile in the first   
place, even if the physical responses were restored.   
  
Would it really be so bad..?  
  
They sat. His arm was around her shoulders as she pointed out whose   
farms were in the valley beneath them. The animals below -- sheep? --   
looked like tethered clouds wandering across a green sky.  
  
The breeze had a bit of chill to it, and Brigid snuggled in closer.   
His hand stroked her hair. He leaned his head against hers, inhaling   
the scent of her hair. "Brigid..."  
  
Her whispered, "Yes?" was a mere breeze against his cheek.  
  
"Is one of those cottages empty? Somewhere where no one will be   
wandering by on his own stroll?"  
  
"I think so."   
  
He helped her to her feet. The motion swung her into his arms. A long,   
gentle embrace, moving into a soft kiss. She tasted of spice, and   
sweet,   
and flowers...  
  
Something buzzed. She stiffened. She turned her head, spoke away from   
him. "What is it?"  
  
Nothing was audible to him, but she was obviously listening. "I see.   
Tell him when he gets out, I'll break his _other_ leg for him."  
  
She sighed. "M'lord, I have duties. I regret -- _deeply regret_ -- that   
I must part company with you at this time. I beg your forgiveness."  
  
And what would she do if he forbade her to go? No, let her go. Right   
now, she regretted leaving him. Let it remain so. "Go, then. If you   
do not find me here when you return, ask Tom of me. He generally knows   
my whereabouts."  
  
She nodded, dropped a quick curtsey... then gave him a quick peck on   
his cheek. "Anything more, and I might forget my duties. Some other   
time, m'lord."  
  
---------  
  
She was out of sight of him in the woods before she called for an exit   
to get out of the holodeck. Damn Josephus for breaking his leg into   
enough pieces that the doctor wanted to keep an eye on him for a full   
day instead of simply patching him up and sending him back to duty.   
  
She got back to her quarters and stripped off the Fair Haven clothing.   
The full, red-tressed wig was a bit harder to disengage -- some of the   
medical micro-sutures that held it on were time-locked. She had a   
gadget in one of the drawers to reprogram them... here.  
  
She dropped the red-haired wig onto its stand on her nighttable. She   
shook her head and her own midnight black hair fell loose.  
  
A quick trip to the sonic shower scoured the dermal colorant off,   
leaving her skin duskier than the Celtic Brigid's. The hazel eyes were   
the same, at least. And the shape of the face. But the short, almost   
boyish cut of her hair, her usual voice range half an octave above   
Brigid's, and the darker skin, with the uniform, should be disguise   
enough.  
  
It had been so far.  
  
Lieutenant Louise Fortunati reported to the duty officer.  
  
------  
  
Vader wandered the woods for a while. A piece of twig caught his eye --   
no, it was the fragment of a horn or antler, not wood. He rubbed it   
clean of leaf-mold, then leaned down to rinse it in a stream. He used   
to be a fair hand at carving. With replicators, these people could have   
any items that were in the databanks, but something hand-crafted would   
mean more than fine jewels as a gift.  
  
He smiled.   
  
----------  
  
He had roughed the horn into a square when there was a faint buzz in   
his ear. "Schedule reminder. Dinner with Captain Janeway in one hour."  
  
"Acknowledged." He stood and brushed tiny shreds of horn from his lap.   
"Computer! Exit!"  
  
The scene before him rippled and froze. Closer than he imagined, a door   
appeared, opening into one of _Voyager_'s corridors.  
  
Barely three meters along the corridor, he felt his palm tingle. He   
looked down. His carving project was dissolving in a sparkle that   
looked like the replicator's recycler. He grabbed harder, but it was   
gone.  
  
Vader sighed. Tom had warned him about holodeck matter. The food in   
Fair Haven was tied to the food replicators and was real. Other items   
obviously were not. And outside the holoemitter range, they   
disappeared,   
like Sidhe gold touched by iron.  
  
------------------  
  
Seven reported to the captain in person rather than trusting her news   
to the comm. "Admiral Skywalker is not who he represents himself to   
be."  
  
Janeway was annoyed. The pot roast was balking her again. She thought   
she had it down, then the power would fluctuate, and she'd have raw   
meat   
or carbonized. A replicator meal was much more dependable, but... She   
hissed as she scorched her finger.  
  
"We knew he was hiding something. What have you found?"  
  
Seven slipped the report into the commconsole and brought up a   
recording.   
Janeway stared, pot roast forgotten.  
  
------------  
  
"Chakotay, review this. Then report to my private dining room. You're   
ostensibly another guest. I've talked to Tuvok..."  
  
--------  
  
"Computer, what would be a suitable guest-gift for a dinner?"  
  
The computer stubbornly refused to understand him. Vader finally asked,   
"What gift would be appropriate for a woman?"  
  
The list was not unexpected -- flowers, wine, a book of poems...   
"Computer. Give me some samples of poems." Then he added, thinking of   
Brigid, "Love poems."  
  
Vader wondered what the "universal translator" was actually doing to   
the original writing. The words flowed, precise in some samples, vague   
in others. Of course, _Voyager_ had literature from hundreds of   
cultures.   
  
"Five minute reminder. Dinner with Captain Janeway."  
  
---------- 


	15. Star Voyager - Part 15

Star Voyager - Part 15  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
Janeway paused for a moment at the replicator, then brought large mugs of   
coffee over to the table and put them down. Vader took the proffered coffee   
and sipped it, both eager for the warmth and wary of burns.  
  
Chakotay toyed with his mug, watching his captain and their guest. Skywalker   
was in a moderately formal tunic... Ah. Tom had replicated him something that   
his own father would find acceptable. Almost. The color was a bit bolder than   
Owen Paris would have ordinarily worn, but it suited the man before them.  
  
Janeway sipped. The pot roast was safely out of memory, chased away by a   
delightful chocolate fluff, her guest was relaxed... she shot a glance over   
to Chakotay, whose eyes widened a bit, nothing as obvious as a wink. Ready.  
  
"So. I think it's time you told us about yourself, Lord Vader."  
  
Nothing. Then Skywalker closed his eyes. Chakotay tensed a bit -- could this   
man be gathering his strength for an attack on his captain?  
  
The eyes opened again. Skywalker's body language changed -- his shoulders   
straightened, his face hardened ever so slightly, and Janeway saw his hand   
curl -- was he reaching for the weapon he had described to Tom?  
  
"Most impressive. I commend you on your data retrieval techniques. Or on your   
powers of concealment."  
  
Janeway studied Vader. "We have personnel with extraordinary abilities in that   
area, yes. But _they_ are not under discussion now. You are. Start talking."  
  
Chakotay rose and moved to the side, a tactic that would have distracted another   
man, dividing his attention, letting Janeway probe into reduced defenses. But   
Skywalker -- Vader, apparently, but Chakotay liked the other name, even if not   
the man -- paid no attention to _Voyager_'s second-in-command at all.  
  
Vader spread his hands on his knees. "Yes, I am Darth Vader." His voice was   
deeper than Skywalker's, more resonant. "The station I was on was destroyed.   
I escaped in one of our shuttles, was thrown into what you have termed a   
wormhole, and arrived here."  
  
Janeway frowned. "That's trivial. Tell us about your Master, the Emperor. And   
the Death Star. I assume that that was the station you just mentioned."  
  
Vader _was_ impressed. "The Emperor is dead. I don't have any information about   
the current state of the Empire. Chaos, no doubt -- there was no obvious successor.   
The fleet admirals would choose which regional governors to back..."  
  
Chakotay, a little impatient, "So who were _you_?"  
  
Vader shifted slightly, to get Chakotay just barely into his line of sight.   
"I was his hand, and his voice." Vader's lips curled slightly -- was that a   
smile or a sneer? "An idealistic fool, at first. A rebel of sorts -- the   
existing government wasn't taking care of the people. My Master saw it, and   
had a remedy to hand... I saw it as sacrificing a few for the good of the many,   
at least at first."  
  
"Some idealist," Chakotay muttered.  
  
Vader sighed. "Commander, you were a member of what is called 'The Maquis.'   
Surely you don't think their hands are clean of the blood of innocents, no   
matter how noble their intentions?"  
  
Chakotay protested, "That's different! We..."  
  
Janeway made a sharp gesture that cut her second-in-command off. "I think your   
misdeeds exceed 'sacrificing a few,' Lord Vader. Or were the residents of   
Alderaan all rebels?"  
  
Janeway watched. If anything, Vader became less tense, not more. "The Death Star   
was Governor Tarkin's project. I opposed it. You've met his kind, I'm sure --   
a passion for tonnage of hardware over more reasonable military expenditures.   
The admiral who would rather have one superdreadnaught than a dozen smaller   
ships equipped properly."  
  
"Yes, they exist in our fleet as well -- but we don't build planet killers!"  
  
Vader took a sip of coffee. Even with the sugar and cream it was bitter and harsh   
to his tongue now, alien. He bit back, "Give yourselves some time -- you will."   
He sat the cup down, a bit more abruptly than he intended. He snapped, "You   
have more questions for me, Captain?"  
  
Janeway rose, standing above her guest. "Too many." She looked over at the   
commander. "Chakotay?" Vader turned to watch his new interrogator.  
  
Chakotay's jaw was set. "I want to know how hunting down and killing all the   
Jedi was supposed to help anybody but your Master's political ambitions."  
  
Vader's jaw dropped. There was no way that _that_ information would have been   
on any data crystal on his ship. Few people knew it at all... was it possible   
that Luke had travelled the same wormhole, was trapped in this distant galaxy   
with him? But Luke would know that the Dark Side no longer ruled him, that...  
  
Vader sat forward, desperate for news. "You picked someone else up? From the   
same wormhole? Was he injured?" Bright Star, no, not Luke injured and possibly   
dead now, with only death-bed babbling about Vader killing Jedi. Truth, Vader   
could face. A partial truth, in a dying man's voice...  
  
"More than injured, I'd say. He says you killed him. He told me his name was   
Obi-Wan Kenobi."  
  
Chakotay was braced for an attack. He had the computer listening for a sub-  
vocalized "Stun!" -- the ship would fire stunners into the room, and Security   
would come in and sort out the carnage.   
  
But Vader slumped, rather than springing to attack. "That explains the foreboding   
that I've been having. I thought it was something healing setting off a nerve   
impulse and giving me a false sensation. A form of what the doctor calls the   
'phantom limb' phenomenon."  
  
Vader continued, "Obi Wan Kenobi and I have been at odds with each other, to   
greater or lesser degree, since I was nine years old. It shouldn't surprise me   
that he continued the enmity after his death."  
  
"_Did_ you kill him?"  
  
"Yes." Vader closed his eyes, and his head moved slightly from side to side. No   
sense of Kenobi -- of any Force user -- close. He was alone -- all too alone.   
But at least his son had not followed him here. Eyes open again. "What do you   
intend to do, now?"  
  
Janeway studied Vader from her standing position. She had faced many other similar   
situations, and every time it was harder. Every time, there was the risk to   
_Voyager_. But the possible gains... "I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to stay   
in your quarters unless you're under escort, at least for now. We won't subject   
you to the indignities of the brig."  
  
Vader considered. He felt Chakotay tensing, but there was no weapon in his reach.   
Ah. Guards outside, waiting for a signal. Very clever. Vader could probably freeze   
Chakotay, but controlling him and Janeway at the same time would be difficult.   
  
And, once he left this room, where would he flee to? Until he had the answer to   
that, one place was as good as another. If he found himself in captivity again,   
his next jailors might not be so reluctant to use death as a punishment. For all   
its technology, this Federation was soft. He would bide his time.  
  
"That is acceptable -- for now."   
  
Janeway wasn't sure she liked that tone. She nodded sharply to Chakotay, who   
spoke into his comm link. The cabin doors opened and Tuvok walked in, with two   
security men behind him, phasers already ready.  
  
"Escort Mister Skywalker to his quarters. Two guards on the door at all time,   
access to be confirmed with me or Chakotay or you, at that point in time, no   
exceptions except the doctor."  
  
Tuvok nodded, motioning with his phaser that Vader should rise and follow. "Come   
with me, please, Mister Skywalker."   
  
Vader stood. His eyes narrowed. It wouldn't be easy, but...   
  
Chakotay said softly, "No tricks, now. It would be a shame for you to have to   
spend the next dozen years in the brig."  
  
Vader snorted, but inclined his head, signalling agreement. "Very well. My   
quarters, Mister Tuvok?"  
  
"No." Vader's eyebrow rose. "We have arranged something a little more secure.   
You will accompany me, please."  
  
The new quarters were not near the sickbay -- although Vader decided that with   
transporters, it hardly mattered. "The cargo bay? Are you making it easy to   
jettison my quarters if I misbehave?"  
  
Tuvok didn't answer. The doors slid open. Vader walked into the room.  
  
The new room was, if barely, more luxurious than his old one. There was roughly   
half again as much room, with the same variety of furniture. One wall was   
window -- "That's a viewscreen, not a window, isn't it."  
  
"Yes. You are in an interior section of the ship."  
  
Vader nodded, turned slowly. He saw the familiar shape of the replicator station.   
"Am I to be escorted to meals? That should liven up your crew's dinners."  
  
Tuvok's voice had the least hint of exasperation. "Your replicator has been set   
to deliver a fixed amount of food at intervals. You are permitted some selection,   
I believe. Mister Neelix thought that would contribute to your rehabilitation."  
  
"Your access to the ship's computer has been reduced, but you should still find   
enough to do. The captain would like a complete report from you on your Empire."  
  
Vader's eyebrows rose. "Military secrets? I think not!"  
  
"I do not believe that the captain expects those. She's interested in an overview   
of the government and the rebellion against it. Let me remind you that she has a   
source by which she can cross-check your information. An objective account would   
serve your purposes best, as it would ours."  
  
Vader opened a drawer. His clothes had been moved here, and several sets more.   
"I see." Inwardly he sighed. At least he could have meals in peace again. Then   
something occurred to him. "The doctor had me on an exercise regimen."  
  
Tuvok's head dropped just a little. "I wlll mention it to the captain. Good night,   
Mister Skywalker."  
  
Tuvok walked out. the door slid shut behind him.  
  
Vader sighed, then walked over to the replicator. "Cocoa, hot."  
  
The platform sparkled. Vader collected the cup and took it over to the station   
chair, switching on the commconsole. He sipped. This almost made up for that pot   
roast. _He_ was a better cook than _that_ -- he'd had to make his own meals often   
enough as a child, when his mother was kept at work by Watto.  
  
"Computer. Image -- Hagia Sophia." The small screen lit with a familiar building.   
"Can you project the image on the wall, in lieu of the starscape?"  
  
The computer's cool, even voice, "Yes."  
  
"Do so."  
  
Vader sat in the dark, looking at the Earth temple that looked so much like the   
palace on Naboo.  
  
=================  
  
Tuvok reported back to Janeway that Skywalker had been delivered to his new   
quarters, without incident. "Thank you, Mister Tuvok." The comm cut off.  
  
Chakotay noted the computer activity. "I wonder what he's up to?" A moment's work   
to call up the image. "Where is that?"  
  
"Istambul, Turkey, Earth. It was a church that was turned into a mosque when Islam   
swept through the area. A much-visited place -- there are even Viking runes, left   
as graffiti by Rus traders."  
  
Chakotay studied the courtyard with the pillared walls, the great dome. "It's   
beautiful. But what's _his_ interest in it?"  
  
"One of the great jokes of the universe. He remembers an identical building being a   
royal palace surrounded by waterfalls. His wife was queen there, if I remember what   
Tom told me correctly."  
  
No other activity on the computer, and the vital signs were steady, even declining;   
the man was calming down, or going into one of the meditative trances he practiced.  
  
================== 


	16. Star Voyager - Part 16

Star Voyager - Part 15  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
  
Vader was exhausted. And frustrated. And... worried. He could feel Kenobi around,   
but no location. He snarled -- how could he fight a fog?  
  
He stretched out on the bed, still clothed, forcing himself, if not to relax, at   
least to enter meditation. Regulated breathing, concentration... he shoved his   
anger down, deep into himself. His perceptions wisped out, barely touching the   
guards at the door, noting the electrical currents of the door mechanism in   
passing, the surveillance set up outside and their counterparts inside. His mind   
touched familiar thoughts -- Paris close to Torres, Janeway, Tuvok's placid   
presence, even Naomi Wildman, who was asleep, fitful inside disturbing dreams.   
He wasn't picking up content, just aura, texture...  
  
His attention hovered over Astrometrics for a moment. There was a trace of Kenobi   
here, somehow. He followed the trace... it dwindled to nothing, but instead, there   
was the emptiness that was the Borg female. Again the puzzle. Why was she so   
determined to keep Naomi Wildman away from him?  
  
Close to the emptiness was another familiar thought-pattern. So this was where   
"Brigid" worked. Still no idea of her real name, but... Well! She was thinking   
about him.   
  
Vader's probe was too slight to give more content than that. And his exhaustion   
was catching up. He slid from meditation into sleep without bothering to undress.  
  
--------------  
  
The replicator chimed with his morning medicine. Vader scowled. Where was he...   
Oh. Another cell. The chime rang again. Unless he wanted a visit from the doctor,   
he'd better take care of that.  
  
Just a hint of stiffness from the exercise the day before. He threw back the   
medicine, ordered a glass of ice water to chase it with. Flavored drinks were   
good, but something in his Tatooine-bred soul still revelled in cold, pure water.   
And the shower in his quarters was wealth unimaginable by those standards.  
  
_If_ he still had it. He'd heard others referring to "sonic showers" and wasn't sure   
whether water showers were an option or the usual issue for non-convalescents.   
These were not the same quarters.  
  
Vader put the empty glass on the replicator shelf. "Another ice water." The glimmer   
refilled the glass. This one he just held for a moment.  
  
Vader tossed back the water and set the glass in the recycler. Exploration of the   
refresher. No, no limitless supply of water there. The sonics worked, but were   
nowhere near as invigorating.  
  
Fresh clothing. The commconsole was considerably more restricted than it had been --   
library only, and technical references were also off-limits. He had no taste for   
Federation history right then. And though he _should_ be researching Federation   
law (or Star Fleet regulations) on his case, he wasn't sure where to even start.   
What kind of jurisdiction did Janeway think she had?  
  
No jurisdiction. He wasn't being held because of what he'd done. He was being held   
because of what he might do. In Janeway's mind, he was a threat, first, to her crew,   
second, to the Federation.   
  
He paced. Running through katas with an imaginary bo-ken worked out some stiffness,   
but did nothing for his nerves. He could feel the two guards outside... a new pair.   
Bored, but a little nervous. He extended his hearing. Judging from their   
conversation, these two believed the dining hall rumors about his powers.   
  
A clear thought cut through the turmoil of Vader's thoughts. It was Naomi Wildman   
-- she was in distress of some sort. His mind reached out to hers. *What's wrong?*  
  
*It's Seven. She's talking to herself. And she won't let me go to class.*  
  
Concentration, and he could use Naomi's eyes and ears. An older child, or one less   
sympathetic, and he couldn't have gotten clear sensations.   
  
Seven of Nine was at a workbench, assembling electronic parts. There was a metallic   
cylinder on the bench top that looked all too familiar. And an aura of Kenobi in the   
room.  
  
In the girl's mind, *Naomi. You have to get away. You have to tell someone about   
Seven.*  
  
*Who?*  
  
Naomi _tried_ to make her answer quiet, but Seven turned to her. "What did you say,   
Naomi Wildman?"  
  
"I need to go to class now. The teacher will report me if I'm not there."  
  
Seven studied Naomi for an instant, then touched her own comm badge. "I will   
instruct your teacher not to expect you." Naomi took advantage of the instant's   
distraction to bolt. Vader's mind lost contact with hers as the door slid open   
in front of her.  
  
He had to get out of here!   
  
He reached into the cell's monitoring circuits. It was fairly easy to make them   
think he was on the bed, meditating. The door lock was simpler...   
  
Vader considered the guards. Two opponents. He preferred not to damage them too   
much -- that would give Janeway a real, local crime to charge him with. But Naomi   
was in danger.  
  
A moment's concentration. Kenobi was good at the accelerated time discipline -- it   
had never been Vader's strongest skill. But it was his only chance.  
  
He cut the lights in his room. Then he opened the door. To his accelerated time-  
sense, the door sliding open was incredibly slow. He reached out and eliminated   
the lights in the corridor, blinding his opponents for as long as it took to render   
them unconscious. Another minute to drag the bodies into his room and close the   
door behind him, leaving his comm badge behind. Then he was off down the corridor,   
heading for Naomi's last location.  
  
Stealth was more to his benefit now than speed. There had been no ship-wide   
announcement of his imprisonment -- Brigid's thoughts would have reflected it.   
So, as long as he avoided the few who _knew_ he should be confined...  
  
A small shape ran full-tilt into him. Caught off-balance, he spun a little with   
the impact. "Naomi," he hissed.  
  
She paused just long enough to grab his hand and tug, not hard enough to actually   
move him, but to steer him her route. Two rapid turns, and into a maintenance tube   
with a hatch that latched behind them.   
  
They climbed, went through three more hatches, and found themselves in a dimly   
lit cargo area. "It will take a little while for her to find us here," gasped Naomi.   
  
"I will deal with Seven. But you need to tell some other adult, in case I fail."  
  
Naomi looked up at Skywalker. "She hates you. Why?"  
  
"I promise to tell you. But the story is too long for now. But you know that it   
isn't Seven that hates me?"  
  
"I know Seven isn't behaving like Seven right now, yes." A sound in the cargo bay,   
near the door -- not the access hatch they had used. Naomi got really quiet.  
  
The door opened. Two security guards walked in. One had a tricorder, the other had   
a phaser out and ready. Vader concentrated on sheltering them from the tricorder   
readings. He almost lost his concentration when he realized from her thoughts   
that one of them was "Brigid Murphy."   
  
"Nothing here," said the other. "We have a lot more of these things to check."  
  
"I still don't believe it," said Brigid. Was that Brigid? The voice was higher-  
pitched, with a flat Star Fleet accent instead of the musical Celtic lilt. "Where   
did this 'evidence' come from, anyway?"  
  
Vader peaked around a crate. The male in uniform shrugged. "Mister Tuvok is   
convinced. At least enough to issue a 'shoot first' order for Skywalker's pickup.   
C'mon. We have lots of cubic to scan."  
  
Naomi exhaled once the door closed. She looked up at Skywalker. "Guess it's not only   
Seven that you're in trouble with."  
  
Vader nodded. "You could have said something, gotten their attention. Or were you   
afraid I'd hurt you?"  
  
She shook her head. "They wouldn't believe me about Seven -- _you_ do. I don't   
think you're a threat to the ship. If Seven's not normal, she _is_ a threat."   
She grinned, as much scared as anything else. "She didn't want me to talk to you.   
So whatever is making her act funny is afraid of you."  
  
Vader thought. Who would believe either of them? That was a short enough list. Who on the list was also reachable without their getting caught?  
  
"Naomi. Where is your comm badge?"  
  
"I dropped it down the tube the first time we went up. I figured it would confuse   
her for at least a few minutes."  
  
Vader nodded. "Excellent reasoning. Now. Who are your friends, among the adults in   
the crew? Who would believe something you told them?"  
  
"Seven, but she's the problem. Neelix... my mom won't believe that anything's wrong   
with Seven. So I can't tell her."  
  
Vader ran over his own contact list. Tom Paris had bridge duty for part of the   
morning, then was scheduled to assist the doctor. Neelix... Maybe. "Let's talk to   
Neelix."  
  
The dining hall was much busier than Vader expected. He stayed in a dead-end   
corridor, concentrating on being inconspicuous, while Naomi went into the kitchen.  
  
"Neelix? Can I talk to you? It's important."  
  
Neelix looked over at the worried girl. "Naomi, what's your problem, sweetie?"  
  
She looked around, "Can we go somewhere quiet?"  
  
Neelix tried not to frown. "Ensign O'Toole is having an engagement party for a   
friend of his, and asked me to cater. I'm really busy right now. Can it wait just   
a little while? Or can't you tell me while I work?"  
  
Naomi hesitated, then someone in Security came in and asked Neelix about one of the   
food platters. When Neelix turned back to Naomi, she was gone.  
  
----------  
  
"No good. He's too busy. If I told him it was an emergency, he'd listen, but I'd   
have to say that in front of everybody."  
  
Vader nodded. "You made the right choice. I have an idea, though. You aren't allowed   
unescorted in Engineering, right?"  
  
"Correct."  
  
"Then I guess I shall have to escort you."  
  
-----------------  
  
Torres scowled for an instant when she saw the little girl in Engineering, then she   
saw the adult with her and grinned. "Well. What brings you here, Admiral?"  
  
"I need a favor. There's a debt of honor I need to pay."  
  
The word he used for "debt of honor" was very precise, implying a huge tangle that a   
single blade could simplify. Torres' grin widened. "I see. What can I do to help?"  
  
"I need to leave the child with you. Listen to her story -- it is true. I am going   
to try to remedy the situation. If I fail, the burden is yours."  
  
"What??"  
  
But Vader was already on his way, hunting Kenobi. With luck, he could salvage the   
_Voyager_ crew woman. Without... Naomi should at least be safe now.  
  
-------------  
  
Seven's usual walk was brisk enough that a slight hurry wasn't conspicuous. But the   
doctor caught up with her and paced her. "I see you have forgotten your appointment   
this morning," he said, pleasantly. "Please accompany me to sickbay."  
  
"Doctor, I am engaged in other duties."  
  
"Your schedule says otherwise.   
  
"Doctor -- "  
  
He waited. She didn't continue, so the doctor stood in her way, steering her towards   
sickbay.   
  
************  
  
"Tuvok to Team One. Report." Tuvok's voice echoed in the empty corridor. It   
repeated. "Tuvok to Team One. Report."  
  
**********  
  
"Doctor, I do not have time for this."  
  
The doctor smiled genially. "The longer you delay, the longer this will take." He   
picked up a medical transformer and started a routine sweep. The readings were not   
routine. "Interesting. The examination may take longer than usual this time. Please   
lie down on the bio-bed."  
  
Seven's face contorted briefly. She knocked the tricorder out of the doctor's hand   
just as the sickbay door slid open. Tom Paris walked in, noticing nothing. "Doc, I   
need to talk to you about..."  
  
***********  
  
Vader's senses were focused on finding Seven, and he almost missed Tom Paris's   
emotional spike of startlement, then anger and pain. But the image Paris was   
projecting had Seven's face in it.   
  
Vader matched his perception with the map in his head of _Voyager_. Sickbay.  
  
*********  
  
Tuvok's board lit with a call from sickbay, but the doctor didn't answer a return   
query. A viewscreen showed a struggle before it cut out, participants unidentifiable.  
  
Occam's Razor pointed to Skywalker. Tuvok sent a double team to the area, and rigged   
a stun field to cover the sick bay if needed.  
  
*************  
  
Vader heard the alarm in the corridor, but used the Force to dodge the Security   
teams looking for him. There were enough other people in the hallways to foul up   
ship's sensors.  
  
Sickbay. Vader heard the struggle -- behind one of the bio-beds. By the Force   
currents, it was Paris and...  
  
The voice identified her before Vader recognized the empty Force-bubble. Vader   
leaped the bio-bed, hauled Seven away from her grip on Paris's throat. Paris reached   
for his comm badge, "Security..." just as a Security team rushed into sickbay.  
  
Seven increased her struggles and screams. The Security team aimed and fired... Tom   
screamed, "No!"  
  
The heavy stun caught both Skywalker and Seven. They collapsed to the floor.   
Security separated the two and were putting binders on Skywalker. Paris protested,   
taking a set of binders from one of the Security men and putting them on Seven as   
well.   
  
Tuvok arrived with more Security teams. "Move away from the prisoner, Mister Paris."  
  
"Tuvok, you have to listen to me. Seven's the one who attacked me. You can ask the   
doc."  
  
Tuvok, "Activate Emergency Medical Hologram."  
  
The EMH shimmered into visibility, looking around at the invasion of his sickbay.   
"Mister Tuvok. Please restrain Seven of Nine."  
  
Tuvok's eyebrow rose. "She is currently under heavy stun. Would you please explain?"  
  
The doctor swung to face Paris. "You didn't tell him?"  
  
Paris snorted. "He wasn't at the listening stage yet. Since Security had already   
stunned both of them, I thought I could catch my breath first."  
  
The doctor's eyebrow rose. "What do you mean 'both'?" Then he saw his patient on the   
floor. "Why is Skywalker under restraints?"  
  
Tuvok, levelly, "Skywalker was under arrest in his quarters. His presence here is   
reason enough to suspect him."  
  
Tom glared at Tuvok. "That's the logical answer, yes. What's your explanation as to   
why Seven was trying to strangle me?"  
  
***************  
  
The doctor insisted that Skywalker be put on one of the bio-beds to check him for   
damage. The other bed held Seven... Seven's body, at least.  
  
"The brain wave patterns aren't Seven's. And they don't match anyone else's on   
board, including Skywalker's."  
  
"There's nothing in your database to match?"  
  
Acerbically, "I have not had the time to run matches against all the EEGs in the   
database, but there is nothing matching in any of the pathologies."  
  
The comm chimed. The doctor snapped, "Yes? What is it?"  
  
Torres's voice. "Doctor, I think Naomi Wildman needs to talk to you."  
  
The doctor started to say, "I'll set aside some time for her in a day or so."  
  
Torres interrupted. "It's about Seven of Nine."  
  
**************  
  
The doctor confirmed that Skywalker had not been in sickbay when Seven had gone   
berserk. "That still leaves a question of breaking arrest. We found the two guards   
I left at his door unconscious and inside his quarters. There is no indication of   
how he managed to open his door and subdue them."  
  
The sickbay door opened. Naomi and B'Lanna walked in. Naomi saw Skywalker stretched   
out on a bio-bed. "Is he okay?"  
  
"Right now, he is in no physical danger. He's under stun until we find out how to   
keep him under arrest."  
  
Tom sighed heavily. "Naomi, you wanted to tell the doctor something about Seven?"  
  
She nodded. "Doctor, Seven of Nine is someone else. Someone who is trying to keep   
me from telling anyone. Especially telling Mister Skywalker."  
  
Tuvok turned. "Miss Wildman. What information can you give us?"  
  
****************  
  
Vader came out of stun. The bio-bed picked up his change in metabolic function and   
beeped plaintively. The doctor turned to him. "Mister Skywalker. You will be pleased   
to know that you are still in as excellent health as you were before your game of   
hide-and-seek with Miss Wildman this morning."  
  
"Is she safe?"  
  
"Yes. Thanks to you and to Lieutenant Torres. It took some while to sort the stories   
out, but Mister Tuvok is now convinced you broke out of your confinement to rescue   
Miss Wildman, and ended up rescuing Mister Paris as well. Congratulations."  
  
Vader looked over at the other bio-bed. Seven was there, but under restraints, not   
just under the treatment arch. He hesitated. "I see. Are you able to help Seven?"  
  
The doctor turned to Vader. "Do you have any theories on her condition? Because,   
frankly, I will entertain any input."  
  
"I think someone else is controlling her."  
  
**************  
  
The doctor paced nervously in the captain's ready-room. Janeway sipped at her coffee.   
This particular human mannerism she could live without, but now was _not_ the time   
to work on the doctor's program.  
  
"Skywalker says that Seven is being controlled by someone called Obi-Wan Kenobi. He   
was able to point out a band on the EEG that he says is related to the use of 'The   
Force.' The readings resemble his in that band, and to a smaller extent those of   
others known to have telepathy such as Mister Tuvok."  
  
"Does he have any ideas on how to get her uncontrolled?"  
  
****************  
  
Chakotay shook his head. "If we didn't have solid evidence of this 'Force', I would   
suggest the doctor implement some of his ship's counselor subroutines. But I saw   
this 'Kenobi' myself, in a less than corporeal form. What does Lord Vader suggest   
we do?"  
  
Janeway shrugged. "It's obvious that he is nearly as much of a loss as we are --   
'Jedi' don't _do_ that, according to him. He proposes solutions, but I think they   
are purely theoretical on his part, not anything he has experience with."  
  
Chakotay shook his head. "This Kenobi was willing to talk to me once. Maybe he will   
again."  
  
Janeway nodded, sipped at her coffee.  
  
**************  
  
Sickbay. Chakotay looked around. Skywalker was standing next to the still-unconscious   
Seven of Nine. "Any change?"  
  
"No. The doctor is understandably reluctant to return her to full consciousness   
while her brain waves are not her own."  
  
Chakotay nodded. He studied the older man. "If it _is_ Kenobi controlling her, he's   
using techniques you might be familiar with."  
  
"Disciplines, yes, but not techniques."  
  
Chakotay acknowledged the difference. "I'd like your help in contacting him."  
  
Vader took a deep breath. "I don't think you understand the risk that involves. If   
he is able to displace me as well, he might then attack you. Is restoring one crew   
member worth multiplying the problem by three?"  
  
"You have a high opinion of your late master."  
  
Vader didn't bother to correct Chakotay's use of the title. "When you have been dead   
a number of years and can still wreak this much havoc, then you may mock his power."  
  
"Touche'." Chakotay drew a pair of chairs next to the biobed containing --   
restraining -- Seven and set up a small table between them. He unwrapped a bundle   
that contained a small technological device and other more natural items -- a bird's   
wing, for one. He sat and gestured for Vader to take the other chair. "This is   
called an _Akoonah_. It enables one to reach a meditative state without dangerous   
drugs."  
  
Vader's eyebrow rose. That could have been _most_ useful at certain points in his   
life. _If_ it really worked. If it weren't just another trap. Kenobi had spoken to   
this man with the ornamented face. Could Vader trust Chakotay not to have made his   
own alliance with the Enemy?  
  
No. If he had, then Seven would be conscious and Vader not. Chakotay was not   
_knowingly_ assisting Kenobi.  
  
Chakotay took the box in his hands. "Can you reach a meditative state on your own?   
Or do you need aid?"  
  
"I do not need your aid in this."  
  
Chakotay nodded. "Very well." He took a deep breath, then dropped into a regular   
breathing rhythm. "_Ah-koo-chee-moya_. We are far from the sacred places of our   
grandfathers; we are far from the bones of our people. We seek answers from the   
powerful being who inhabits the body of our companion, Seven of Nine." 


	17. Star Voyager - Part 17

Star Voyager - Part 17  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
  
Boards of inquiry had a common feel to them in any society. The rules of   
evidence that apparently restrained Janeway were a far cry from the ones   
Vader had had to tolerate. They even seemed to exceed the rules of the Old   
Republic.   
  
Vader had, in his time, officiated at a few boards, been asked to give evidence   
at others, and -- only twice -- had been the object of inquiry. He despised them.   
But this one... His eyes narrowed.   
  
Different emotions warred in him. First, there had been the Security escort to   
the hearing -- one of whom had been a Lieutenant Louise Fortunati. His heart had   
leapt at the sight of her, but she showed no visible sign of acknowledging him --   
was he imagining that here was the reality under Brigid Murphy? -- until they were   
at the conference room, and then she had given his arm a squeeze. But they were   
under observation, and he hadn't been able to improvise an answer before he was   
directed to a chair.  
  
The hearing progressed, with a recess for lunch and another break for dinner.   
Eventually, they were finished giving evidence. Janeway was having the summaries   
read again.  
  
Seven's voice said, "...mistook the voice of Kenobi for commands from the collective,   
on an emergency frequency that overrode..."   
  
A pity, Vader mused, that they couldn't compel Kenobi's own testimony. But the old   
Jedi had fled his Borg prison when the doctor had finally discovered the circuitry   
that had trapped him there. And Vader had not detected him anywhere around since.   
  
The doctor's voice, "...was acting to save Mister Paris from an attack, even at the   
risk of his own recapture..."   
  
And even Naomi was there. Her testimony on Seven's behavior corroborated the doctor's   
and Paris's brief encounters with the seriously personality-changed Seven. The hour   
was late, so it was a recording of her voice reading the summary, not the child   
herself. But the high, light voice warmed Vader, helping him relax. The memory of   
her bright mind and her intelligence made him smile a little. Tuvok noticed the   
smile, and his eyebrow rose, almost imperceptibly.   
  
Janeway touched a small disk on the table at her place, and the sharp sound of a   
gavel echoed in the meeting room. "Is there any more testimony?" Silence. She looked   
at Vader, giving him a small nod. "Very well. Anakin Skywalker."   
  
Next to him, Paris murmured, "Stand up, Admiral."   
  
Vader rose. "Yes, Captain?" His huge frame stood there, towering over the others.   
Janeway just looked at him steadily while she thought, more silence than he wanted   
to hear -- he thought she had already made up her mind! He shifted a little -- when   
had he lost the skill of standing motionless, letting others become nervous? Possibly   
when he had been healed to where he no longer needed the mask, no longer had it   
available to hide his expressions behind. Or was it since his repaired nerves   
regained control of his body, not his conscious mind?  
  
The clothing added to his discomfort. The utilities he had worn helping Paris   
maintain the _Delta Flyer_ were of a different cut, closer to a flight suit. This   
more formal costume sat uneasily on his flesh. And he had only barely found a   
selection in Stores of robes he might have been comfortable in, robes like those   
the Jedi wore, before he had lost his replicator privileges.  
  
Or would Jedi-style clothing be just as foreign to him? So many years... He was no   
longer that young Jedi, nor was he in truth the Dark Lord who had been so sorely   
wounded, tossed into a whirlpool of fate to land squarely in front of _Voyager_...   
to arrive at a place where he could find healing. Healing of soul as well as of   
body, although, in truth, his son had started _that_ change in him.  
  
Vader looked straight into Janeway's eyes. Here was his fate.  
  
"We have no jurisdiction," the captain said, "over the crimes you may have committed   
in your home space, even if we had reliable testimony to their history. But there   
are... infractions... you committed here."   
  
At the word "infractions," Vader's nerves eased. The Starfleet people were not   
inclined to joke in such matters -- grave matters were called by grave terms. "I had  
my reasons." He lifted his chin proudly.  
  
"Indeed. This is a ship with a chain of command. And, obviously, we can't trust you   
to put my orders over your judgement on what has to be done. Did it never occur to   
you to notify Security of your suspicions? If they had been tracking Seven, Mister   
Paris might not have been sporting the strangle marks we found him with."   
  
"I had no reason to think you would believe any such report from me, and Miss   
Wildman had been warned by Kenobi not to tell anyone. I am pleased she finally found   
the courage to tell Lieutenant Torres enough of the story so the lieutenant called   
in a Security backup." Vader rubbed the back of his head. Seven had been more of a   
handful than expected, and he still had the memory of having his head bounced around   
the floor and biobeds as he tried to subdue Seven without damaging her.   
  
Janeway studied the prisoner. Paris's suggestion looked better every moment. "Mister   
Skywalker. It is the considered opinion of this court that you have no place here   
on _Voyager._ At your age, learning to be a subordinate would be a great trial for   
all of us, and, frankly, I don't think you would tolerate it. Therefore..."   
  
Vader's face betrayed a small smile. Her assessment was all too true. The smile   
faded. Was there a viable alternative?  
  
She nodded to Paris, ever so slightly, who shot a quick grin at her in turn. "We've   
several small ships that one world we recently visited gifted us with. We're going   
to supply one, and turn you loose with it. We won't give you our complete library   
files, but there are a number of files you'll find interesting -- those on   
experiments on opening temporary wormholes. I have the feeling that your luck will   
be better if you start your own experiments close to where you arrived on this end,   
where you know there was once a gateway."   
  
At "considered opinion," Vader stiffened, bracing himself for the verdict, and that   
is what kept him from slumping in relief at the rest of Janeway's words. "Thank you,   
Captain," he said quietly. The chance to get a ship, even getting home again, made   
him feel a little giddy. His own command again, not a huge city of a Super Star   
Destroyer, but at least something that would answer to his will alone. There was   
only one question left. "When?"   
  
"Soon. The longer you are on _Voyager_, the longer you will have to backtrack. But I   
thought I'd give you a chance to say goodbye to Naomi and your other friends."  
  
Vader nodded curtly. This was the first time he could actually someone call "friend" and mean it the way the word was meant.   
  
************  
  
The escort back to the cargo area was more courtesy than guard -- Vader was free to   
move in the public areas of the ship again. But the company was welcome...  
  
"Fortunati."  
  
She nodded. The warmth was there, behind the carefully controlled exterior. Then a   
grin broke through. "M'lord." She looked up at him. "You really _do_ have that title,   
I see. That's why you took to it so well. And I thought you were just adapting to the   
holodeck." One corner of her mouth lifted, quirking her smile. "Are your lands like   
that? Like Fair Haven?"  
  
He was not interested in explaining Imperial politics to her, especially since he had   
no idea what would still be true when -- if? -- he returned. "My duties keep me   
mostly aboard ship."  
  
That was not the right thing to remind her of. She had been in the room when   
Chakotay had repeated Kenobi's accusations. Her smile wavered. "And you'll be   
leaving, to go back there."   
  
"It's my duty to try. I have no place here on _Voyager_." He did not add that other   
cultures in the Delta Quadrant would be even more alien to him.  
  
The door slid open in front of Vader. Fortunati stood to one side and reprogrammed   
the lock to allow egress. Vader stood, watching. Not that the lock had been any good   
against him earlier, but...  
  
"Can you come in for a while?" he asked, suddenly almost shy.  
  
"I'm on duty for several hours yet, m'lord. And you have an early call, to ready   
your new ship."  
  
"Then..."  
  
Fortunati stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "They're waiting for me.   
Sleep well." 


	18. Star Voyager - Part 18

Star Voyager - Part 18  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
  
  
  
Vader woke slowly. The ceiling was that of his  
cell-quarters, yes, but now the lock on the door would  
answer to him. He rolled over onto his side.  
"Computer. Cocoa and coffee, mixed, hot."  
  
The mug materialized on the replicator shelf. The  
steam from the liquid inside bore its aroma to him,  
urging him out of bed.  
  
Someone had re-set his 'fresher, too -- it was  
delivering water now, like the convalescent quarters.  
He took a long time letting the needles of liquid  
pepper his skin, breathing the steamy air.  
  
There was a message waiting from Tom Paris.  
"Something's come up -- I'll meet you in the hangar at  
1500 hours to check out your ship. Try not to get into  
any trouble before then, okay?"  
  
Vader snorted. Still, it left him time to make his  
farewells.  
  
"Computer, breakfast... wait." He thought. When he had  
been forced to eat in in the dining hall, he had  
bitterly resented it, even though it had been simple  
justice. The solitary meal, now, was a symbol of what?  
His original freedom as a convalescent? His status as  
a prisoner? He scowled. "Computer, cancel breakfast  
order." He dressed in basic utilities -- he was going  
to be readying a ship for a long journey. But first,  
breakfast.  
  
------------  
  
Neelix had more than his usual twinkle in his eye as  
he set up a breakfast tray for Vader. "I'm happy," he  
said, "that you could help Naomi. She was asking about  
you this morning, but I told her I didn't know if you  
were going to be coming here for breakfast."  
  
"I didn't know earlier, myself." Vader looked around.  
No sign of the child. "She's gone?"  
  
"She has an early class this morning. She'll be back  
for lunch, later."  
  
Vader sat alone with his meal. Occasionally someone  
would greet him, but they seemed to know he was  
leaving, and the ones who weren't his acquaintences,  
while they might wish him well, didn't bother to  
introduce themselves now.  
  
-------------------  
  
Vader entered the pub in appropriate clothing for Fair  
Haven. Sullivan greeted him at once and set up a pint.  
"It is hearing I am that you are leaving soon, m'lud?"  
the owner asked him.  
  
Vader nodded calmly. "Yes. It is time for me to go  
home. My estate has been too long without my hand on  
its reins." He smiled a little at that.   
  
Then he suddenly realised that there was no telling at  
this stage of research _when_ he would be back, how  
much time had passed since the destruction of the  
second Death Star or if he could even come  
back _before_ he left. An interesting thought that  
held many possibilities, he mused. Not the least of  
which would be finding himself already there, a young  
man -- or even a child.  
  
"Do you have family, m'lud?"   
  
Vader looked over at the innkeeper. "Yes, I _have_ a  
family." But suddenly he avoided the eyes of the  
barkeeper. Yes, he had a family, if the family wanted  
him. He was not so sure about that. Luke would perhaps  
accept him but Leia, his daughter, was just as proud  
and stubborn as he was. It would be hard, maybe  
impossible, to talk to her. Pride was his family's  
downfall. Pride, anger and stubbornness.  
  
Sullivan nodded and set out a platter of fine bread,  
cheeses, and sausages. But the finely-dressed man  
seemed to have neither a thirst nor a hunger. Sullivan  
smiled. "It's company you'd be wanting, then, m'lud?"  
  
That drew Vader's attention. "Not precisely, but...  
when will Brigid be here?"  
  
"She's gone, m'lud, to tend her mother's sister who's  
laid up in bed with the fever. Father Mulligan is  
going to visit her later today."  
  
Vader's eyebrow rose. Mulligan was the name the  
holographic doctor used in Fair Haven. Was he curing  
virtual ailments, then? No, this seemed to be more of  
a religious function. He shook his head. A computer  
program with religious leanings.   
  
Then again, he owed the doctor a goodbye as well. In  
spite of the initial clash, the doctor had done him a  
great service, freeing him from his infirmities.  
  
"And where would I be finding Father Mulligan?"  
  
Sullivan gestured toward the church, visible through  
the windows of the pub. "He should be taking  
confessions right now. You might wish to unburden your  
soul before you start your journey home."  
  
Vader kept from laughing. He had no intention of  
confessing anything to the doctor that the hologram  
didn't already know. Instead, he nodded solemnly.  
"Indeed I might."  
  
Outside, the sun was warm and gentle, nothing like the  
harsh suns of Tatooine. The church was on the edge of  
town, next to a small fenced field with engraved white  
rocks. The doctor, in the robes of his Fair Haven  
character, was standing at the door of the church,  
bidding farewell to a parishioner. "Ah, Mister  
Skywalker. Come to make confession?"  
  
Vader bit back a growl. He was glad that he would soon  
be rid of the doctor's pre-programmed hearty  
cheerfulness. "You are visiting Brigid Murphy's  
kinswoman. I will accompany you."  
  
"I... see." The doctor shrugged, and set out on the  
road, waiting only a moment to see if Skywalker was  
behind him. Once the larger man caught up, the doctor  
slipped out of his priest personna to rattle  
cheerfully about his "cure" of Seven, and,  
coincidences need not apply!, his testimony that  
cleared Vader.   
  
"A non-corporeal person was trapped inside what you  
were describing as a 'Force void bubble.' Seven was  
hearing his voice as commands from the Borg  
collective, and she has very little resistance in that  
area, although she has improved considerably from when  
we rescued her from the Borg."  
  
It was very like the doctor to call Kenobi a  
"non-corporeal person" rather than a ghost or other  
spiritual phenomenon. "Is he gone? Were there any  
memory residues left?"  
  
"Her EEG is back to normal, but she retains only  
partial memories of the time period."  
  
A silence, walking, then, "I adjusted her cortical  
node so those frequencies are blocked now. She will no  
longer be vulnerable to the collection of formerly  
living persons you seem to have hovering around you."  
  
Well! "Formerly living" was as close to "ghost" as the  
hologram would ever get, at least outside of a  
story-telling, but... "Collection?!"  
  
The doctor/priest turned to look at his former  
patient. "You didn't know? Seven reported at least  
three different voices. One, she might have fought  
off, but three -- and they quarrelled."  
  
Vader took the doctor by the shoulders and nearly  
shook him. "This wasn't in your testimony at the board  
of inquiry. Explain yourself!"""  
  
"My complete report to the captain would have taken  
several days to read aloud. My _summary_ was even cut  
to an absurdly short length, and presented as my  
complete testimony," the doctor protested. "That  
testimony helped clear you, Mister Skywalker. Does it  
matter how many voices Seven heard inside her head?"  
The doctor seemed to be unsure whether to regard  
Seven's problem as three non-corporeal persons or just  
one, talking in different voices.   
  
Between clenched teeth, "It matters for when I return  
home. I want to see your entire report."  
  
"Very well. The record is available in sick bay. In  
the mean time, I have a sick parishioner to visit."  
  
Brigid's "mother's sister." But Vader was too much in  
a turmoil to deal with Brigid right then. "I need to  
look at that report." 


	19. Star Voyager - Part 19

Star Voyager - Part 19  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
  
Vader went over the relevant records repeatedly, but  
was unable to acertain the number of voices that Seven  
had heard -- or whether their originators were all  
trapped or not. And Seven remembered no more -- an  
hour interrogating her yielded nothing but frayed  
nerves on both sides.  
  
At least three, though. One was urging, constantly,  
that Seven destroy Vader. Another fought the first,  
but the voice was weak. The third... either wavered  
between sides, or there were only two voices. Or there  
were four. Vader clenched his fists in frustration.  
  
"Are these _all_ of your records?"  
  
"Yes, Mister Skywalker," the doctor answered wearily.  
"You have heard all the raw recordings as well as  
Seven's interpretations. When I offered to continue  
the interrogation under hypnosis, she offered to  
reprogram me. I declined her offer."  
  
---------------------  
  
The doctor went on to his pastoral duties, leaving  
Vader alone in sick bay. There was a movement at the  
doorway, but at an unexected height -- Naomi Wildman,  
rather than an adult. "Mister Skywalker?"  
  
Vader turned his station chair, but stayed seated.  
"Miss Wildman."  
  
"You're free."  
  
He smiled slightly. "Yes. Thanks to you. You convinced  
them that there was something wrong with Seven."  
  
The little girl came up to the data console and looked  
at the records. "I remember that. She kept changing  
voices."  
  
That caught Vader's interest. "How much do you  
remember?"  
  
"Most of it. Then I put it into my journal. But they  
said the journal wasn't real evidence."  
  
Vader fumed over the the way the others had treated  
Naomi. "I believe, Miss Wildman, that you will always  
have problems with adults, until you manage to escape  
to a different ship, one in which no one knew you as a  
child."  
  
"Did you have that problem, when you were a child?"  
  
A tiny snort, "A little. But not once I started my  
Jedi training. At that point, I had to catch up with  
aprentices my own age who had had years more training  
than I had."  
  
Naomi nodded. "So you had problems growing up, too."  
  
"Yes."  
  
--------------------  
  
The conversation with Naomi was refreshing, but  
poignant. He would miss her, more than he had missed  
any of his Imperial colleagues. But it was unthinkable  
that she come with him, of course.  
  
As it was unthinkable that another accompany him. The  
computer refused to tell Vader where Lieutenant  
Fortunati's duty station was -- as a exile-to-be, he  
no longer had the clearances. He was permitted to  
leave her a message, but had no idea if he would even  
still be on board when she got his message.  
  
Nor was he sure how much privacy she would have when  
she listened to the message. So he kept it far milder  
than he might have chosen if he were actually courting  
her.  
  
The comm buzzed. "Admiral, please report to the hangar  
bay. We need to review the final checklist for your  
flight."  
  
"I'll be right there, Lieutenant Paris." 


	20. Star Voyager - Part 20

Star Voyager - Part 20  
  
by Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
  
  
"It's going to be a while before I get another  
assistant of your calibre." Tom sighed as he gave the  
departing ship's control panels a final wipe with a  
polishing cloth. "Admiral, if you could just walk  
through walls, why didn't you just steal a ship and  
run?" Was that a plaintive note in the younger man's  
voice?  
  
Vader scowled. He had made no attempt to describe just  
what the limits of his powers were, and some of the  
rumors rivaled tales of the much-vaunted Q. "Supplies,  
for one thing. Some things can be readily replicated  
with the ship's power, but not with a smaller craft's.  
And this way, the captain feels no obligation to track  
me down and retrieve her vessel."   
  
Paris accepted this, turning back to the ship. "Can  
you handle her?" Vader nodded his head, checking off  
another item on the supply list. "We have the custom  
of naming our ships. Computer? Does this one have a  
name already?"   
  
_Voyager_'s computer answered, "The ship name is," a  
collection of yowls and hisses. "It translates to the  
word 'seeker.'"   
  
Vader smiled quietly. "A good omen. _Seeker_, you are,  
then." He patted the ship's streamlined hull. This  
vessel would be his home and his friend for time to  
come. There was often a very personal relationship  
between a pilot and his vessel. He remembered his  
other vessels, not the _Executor_ or the _Devastator_,  
but the small ones, like his Tie Advance, the  
prototype he flew in the first Death Star battle. Back  
in those days he had refused to give it a name. Now he  
regretted it.  
  
---------------------------------------  
  
Seven was conspicuous by her absence, but most of the  
other crew he had grown to know showed up for brief  
farewells. Neelix brought a basket of "goodies" that  
promised to at least relieve the boredom of standard  
rations, whether for the better or not remained to be  
seen.   
  
Chakotay, as a parting gift, presented him with an  
_akoonah_. "I believe that meditation with this will  
help you find the way home." The dusky skinned man's  
voice was level, "Within, if not without."  
  
"Thank you, Commander Chakotay."  
  
The captain spoke a few words to Vader, but mostly  
stood aside and watched as he climbed into and out of  
the ship, prepping it for the long journey.   
  
The doors to the corridor slid open one more time. Two  
females, one a half-Klingon engineer, the other...  
Vader smiled, but contained. "Ladies." 


	21. Star Voyager - Part 21

Star Voyager - Part 21  
  
by Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
  
B'Lanna smiled at the title. She was carrying a long,  
flat package. "I don't know what weapons the captain  
is going to let you take with you, but she can't  
object to this." She handed the tall man the package.  
By its weight, it was the bat'leth Vader had beeen  
using in the holodeck. "You can use it in exercises to  
keep yourself in shape during the trip."  
  
"Thank you, Engineer." Then Vader turned to the other.  
"Lieutenant Fortunati."  
  
Fortunati smiled. Torres backed away and went to keep  
her husband company, giving the two some small  
privacy. "M'lord."  
  
"Should I call you Brigid, then?"  
  
"If you wish. If that's how you think of me." She  
looked up at him. "You're going away."  
  
He nodded. "You were at the board of inquiry -- you  
heard the verdict. And the captain is right -- the  
longer I stay on _Voyager_, the further I am away from  
returning home."  
  
Louise sighed. Home was a definite sensitive point on  
the ship. They were a good fifty years from reaching  
Earth, and perhaps only their descendants would make  
it. She started to say something, then stopped. "I  
wish you a successful journey, m'lord."  
  
"And I, you. Give my regards to the folk of Fair  
Haven. -- I was there for a while this morning, but  
was interrupted before I could say goodbye to the  
residents."  
  
That produced a genuine smile, "Aye, that I will,  
m'lord. Especially to the brawler you bested in the  
arm wrestling -- 'tis glad to see you gone will he  
be."  
  
Vader laughed. "He'll have his title back, will he?"  
  
"And the admiration of the menfolk, and the doting of  
the women."  
  
Vader rolled his eyes. For a long instant, he wanted  
to talk her into coming with him, but she would not  
leave her post, not when Janeway needed every trained  
hand so badly. "But it is farewell I have to say to  
you." The rhythms of Fair Haven came back to his  
tongue, so easily.   
  
She nodded, came up on her toes to kiss him on the  
cheek, then backed away, going over to where the  
captain stood talking to Chakotay.  
  
------------------------  
  
Was there a faint glimmer in the co-pilot's seat when  
Vader lifted the _Seeker_ from its cradle in the  
hangar? The hangar doors were open, with the same kind  
of air-curtain force fields he was used to at home. An  
obvious application, but it pointed out one more way  
how similar the two peoples were in some ways. The  
solid doors closed when he was clear of the hangar,  
and Vader maneuvered on thrusters until it was safe to  
engage the warp drive.   
  
Vader's heart pounded in his chest. Many questions lay  
ahead, many answers too, leading to many more  
possibilties. The depths of space had always been more  
of a home to him than any one world had been since...  
He touched the commlink for the very last time, to  
contact the friends he was leaving behind.  
  
"Captain Janeway?"  
  
"Lord Vader, I wish you a safe journey. And your home  
at its end." He could hear that she meant what she  
just told him. He smiled briefly.  
  
"Thank you, Captain Janeway. May the Force be with you  
and your crew." He could not say that he took a debt  
with him of honor, one that could only be paid  
forward. Not aloud, at any rate.  
  
He shut off the commlink. There was nothing more to  
say and nothing to look back to. He looked into the  
starfield ahead of him and its light drew him away  
from _Voyager_, to an unknown destination.  
  
Or destiny.  
  
- To be continued! - 


	22. Star Voyager - Part 22

Star Voyager - Part 22  
  
By Iejasu and Miklinar  
  
  
  
  
Tom watched from the hangar control bay. He had the  
feeling that Skywalker's son -- Luke, was that his  
name? -- would have the same mixed feelings to seeing  
his father again that Owen Paris would -- if it even  
happened.   
  
Paris closed the control board. "Guess I need to get  
back to working on the Delta Flyer."  
  
****  
  
"Well, that's one more to transmit to Star Fleet,"  
Janeway remarked.   
  
Tuvok, after a hesitation, "You realize, of course,  
that giving Skywalker that ship could mean a  
significant improvement in his people's technology."  
  
"No more than they would already be getting from his  
memories, Mister Tuvok. He was an engineer -- he was  
learning from us every minute that he was here."   
  
Chakotay, "I hope we taught him some of our ethics as  
well."   
  
Janeway smiled, "He always had them. He just chose to  
ignore them when they were inconvenient. One of the  
prices of power."   
  
The _Seeker_'s trace would be on their instruments  
for hours, but there was no point in watching the  
viewscreen any more.   
  
Captain Janeway took a deep breath. "Mister Kim, head  
us back toward home."  
  
******  
  
The autopilot was engaged -- _Seeker_ was pointed back  
toward the wormhole exit, the only possible route  
home.  
  
Home... Vader shook his head as he settled down to  
study tech manuals. Had he picked up the longing of  
_Voyager's_ crew, translating it to his own  
circumstances? And where _was_ home?  
  
He felt a presence in the ship... more definite than  
the glimmer he had thought he had seen on launch. It  
intensified when he thought of "home," of Tatooine,  
not the fleet. He closed his eyes and relaxed, trying  
to sense, not analyze. Feminine, but not Padme...  
certainly not Leia -- there was no acerbic edge to it.  
"_Mother_?" he whispered.  
  
The contact warmed, but stayed ill-defined. Vader  
reached for the _akoonah_, then hesitated. Machinery  
should not be necessary, not between them. He slipped  
into a meditative trance.   
  
******  
  
On _Voyager_.  
  
Seven of Nine seldom used the engineering repairs  
carrel, and it was a month after Skywalker's departure  
before she returned to it. She called Torres and  
Janeway to meet her there. Torres was still running  
instruments over the rod shape on the bench when  
Janeway looked up. "One of the 'ghosts' was building a  
lightsaber."   
  
******  
  
On the _Seeker_.  
  
Two months later, at the recorded location of the  
wormhole exit, Vader took careful measurements. There  
_was_ a trace still here. A possibility of a way home.  
  
  
  
*The End*  
  
(author's afterword to follow) 


	23. Star Voyager - Afterwords

Miklinar's Afterword and Notes  
  
Some small while ago, Iejasu told me about a _Star  
Wars_/_Voyager_ crossover she was playing with. She  
asked if I would like to see it.  
  
I frankly thought the idea was silly at first. But  
_Star Trek_ has opened gateways to other universes  
before.  
  
The first major decision was "when?", for both sides  
of the equation. Iejasu wanted Tom and B'Lanna to be  
together. And it had to be before _Voyager_ was home,  
of course -- otherwise, it's not _Voyager_, it's one  
of the other _Treks_.   
  
The other side was more indefinite at first. We  
finally decided that the Vader near the end of Episode  
6 was best for the story. That one would be more  
likely to adapt to being in a new situation -- even if  
he didn't realize at first it was a new universe.  
  
We decided to change the final battle in the Emperor's  
Throne Room by just a bit. The Emperor didn't damage  
Vader quite as much as he did in the movie -- Vader  
had to have a chance to live. And there was no  
lopped-off hand.  
  
Someone asked why Vader didn't just take over Voyager,  
strangling Janeway to start with. (Oh, the  
temptation!)  
  
Vader is not Q. He can't control all of _Voyager_ by  
himself -- he doesn't know how the systems work, and  
he can't control enough people at once to run it. And  
if he picked one or two vital crewmembers to control,  
the changed behavior would bring negative attention to  
him and his "pet" very soon. It's happened before on  
_Voyager_. The others noticed the change, and _did_  
something.  
  
Without a Fleet or the political backing of the  
Emperor, Vader has to resort to guile and diplomacy to  
advance his agenda. It's a strain, but he's learning.  
And it will take _time_.  
  
And what _is_ his agenda? First, of course, to  
survive. Then, to get closer to the top -- he's not  
used to being on the bottom of the social ladder any  
more. Getting home is a distant third on the list --  
it might not even be possible.  
  
The wormhole trip almost kills him. When Vader  
arrives, he's half out of his mind with pain, and  
having to deal with the Emergency Medical Hologram  
could drive anyone to a temper tantrum.  
  
Once he starts to heal... and especially when he  
discovers they don't know who he is ... he does the  
cultural equivalent of Sith invisibility: he slides  
into _Voyager_'s tidy categories of "rescuee" and  
"patient", and is taking maximum advantage of both  
_Voyager_'s medical facilities, and all the new  
engineering. Both of which he is encouraged to take  
advantage of, to his surprise.  
  
For the first time in years, he is dealing with people  
with no pre-conceptions about him. Which challenges  
him to re-examine his conception of himself.  
  
And if he ever reaches home, what will have changed  
there?   
  
We have even speculated on time travel -- having Vader  
arrive before he left. This could be extreme -- a  
thousand years or a hundred -- or close -- he arrives  
to see himself leaving Tatooine for the first time.   
  
-----------  
Minor notes  
-----------  
  
Vader and Naomi Wildman  
  
As far as we know, the only experience Vader has with  
children while he was adult/near adult is with Jedi  
apprentices. Naomi, as the "token child" on _Voyager_  
doesn't quite fit into the pattern Vader is used to,  
but then again, she is not a normal child by _our_  
standards, either. During Neelix's final episode, she  
even said she wasn't a child any more. This from  
someone the TV audience met before she was born in the  
Delta Quadrant.  
  
So Naomi is trying to fit Vader into her pattern of  
"adult" while Vader tries to fit Naomi into  
"child/apprentice."   
  
-----------------  
  
Seven of Nine and Vader  
  
Before Kenobi arrived, someone suggested a romance  
between Vader and Seven. It wasn't real likely.  
  
First, she would be contemptuous of the tech level of  
his prosthetics.   
Second, there would be obvious distaste for the way he  
loses his temper.   
Third, she feels odd to him -- the "Force empty"  
bubble caused by her Borg implants.   
  
Both of them having implants is far from enough to  
start a romance on.  
  
Seven and the voices  
  
We needed something more definite than just Kenobi  
visiting Chakotay to cause Vader problems. And while  
Kenobi is a manipulative soul ("I need you Luke. _She_  
needs you.") there is nothing in the movies to suggest  
possession was possible.  
  
On the other hand, Seven has been known to be pushed  
around by voices in her head before. It's a function  
of messages from her implants.   
  
  
  
-------------  
On Fate  
-------------  
  
Why did this happen to Vader? And why _Voyager_?  
  
On one hand, this question is silly -- these things  
happen to characters because there are writers hiding  
back behind the words.  
  
On the other hand...  
In some ways, Vader is more controlled by the Force  
than controlling using it, and has been since his  
conception. The Force could well have brought him  
across to the closest universe capable of saving his  
life, to the closest ship. But if the Force did so, it  
means that something isn't finished with Vader yet --  
I don't think the Force gives out new bodies as  
retirement gifts.   
  
Gripping hand, the story is driven by its characters.  
Putting Vader on _Voyager_ after the Throneroom fight  
has to put him into the Doctor's holographic hands  
once he arrives in _VOyager_'s universe.   
  
In a way, this reminds me of the final episode of  
_Quantum Leap_. Whoever is jumping Sam around isn't  
done with him yet. (No! We are not going to do a _Star  
Wars_/_Enterprise_ crossover.)  
  
  
----------  
Third footnote on the left: read _Mote in God's Eye_  
by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle. The somewhat  
lopsided Moties had two right hands for medium to  
light manipulation, and one heavily muscled left arm  
for holding on and lifting.   
  
----------  
  
  
  
Iejasu's Afterword and Notes  
  
First of all, this story would not have been half as good as it is without Miklinar.   
  
Sometimes he asked questions that nearly drove me crazy.   
  
Why would Vader act in this way?  
  
No, Janeway would never do this like you describe it!  
  
What does the detention area on Voyager looks like?  
  
He asked if the security of the detention area was really able to restrain Vader with all his special Force abilities?  
  
Sometimes i felt like hitting my head on the keyboard.   
  
But that is what makes Miklinar so unique. He is the best writer and editor one can get.   
  
He asks questions and does not stop until it is perfect!  
  
He brutally badgered me to finish it and continued writing when I was distracted by   
  
something new to marvel about...namely Harry Potter and esp. Professor Snape.  
  
  
So If somebody is the real artist and made this story worth a hundred reviews, it is him!  
  
  
Thanks Miklinar, for keeping up with me!  
  
Iejasu 


	24. Additional Comment by Miklinar

Addition by Miklinar  
  
In Istambul, Turkey stands a magnificent building that  
was first a church (Hagia Sophia, meaning "Holy  
Wisdom") and was then converted to a mosque (Aya  
Sofya).  
  
It also bears a striking similarity to the Palace of  
Theed on Naboo. (As Peter Schickele says, there is a  
name for this type of similarity. It's called  
"identity.")  
  
Here are some links to pictures. Judge for yourself.  
(Large graphics on the pages -- may be slow loading.)  
  
http://bornova.ege.edu.tr/~ramkoc/ayasofya.html  
http://w4u.eexi.gr/~ippotis/agia1en.html  
http://www.aysima.com/turkey/aya_sofya.html  
  
http://www.byzantium1200.org/hagia.html  
an architect's rendering  
  
http://www.boyles.org/IstanbulPictures/Istanbul3.htm  
It's hard to tell whether the Blue Mosque (foreground)  
or Hagia Sophia (behind and to the left) looks more  
like the Palace at Theed. 


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